Grimoire trouble
by Blue342
Summary: An accident with a grimoire sents a bit older Marche into Tristain, where he manages to get mistaken for Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt and later, a void mage.
1. Chapter 1: Fouquet who?

Author's notes: My first fanfic, but I'm feeling ambitious. Please, review! Also, since English isn't my first language, there will probably be spelling mistakes and other whatnot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_Thinking_

"Speaking"

**Spells, or setting**

**Chapter 1**

**Fouquet who?**

**Tristain, abandoned house in a forest**

A blue light lit up the room momentarily, and then with a loud noise Marche Radiuju crashed on the floor. _I have such shitty luck_, he thought as he lied there on the floor with his eyes shut. He didn't dare to move. He felt that if he moved or even opened his eyes, he would acknowledge that he was no longer in his friend's room in St. Ivalice. He would acknowledge that he was in a completely unknown place, very likely in a completely unknown world. With no friends nor family. It was also more than likely that there would be no fast food. No, if his last experience with a grimoire was any indication, there would be vampires and dragons trying to eat him and an avatar of nice emotions such as hate and anger trying to thin out his limbs. Marche sighed. _Just my luck. What are the odds that Mewt could accidentally find TWO grimoires of unknown –and more than likely unlimited– power, when some nutcases search for anything even remotely supernatural for their whole lives without success? _

Marche sneezed. Whatever this place was, it was dusty. Marche begrudgingly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. It was an old house. The walls were bare and the windows were dirty. There were no signs of electricity. Marche sighed in defeat. The grimoire had thrown him somewhere with no electricity. _Another world with a fantasy game as a basis?_ Marche thought and felt a shiver travel through his body. Last time it had been a Final Fantasy game and the caster –Mewt– was a child, resulting into a game world of Ivalice where death was almost unknown thing. That had made things actually quite easy. It still hurt to get hit by a lightning bolt for an example, but wounds were easily healed and normally fatal hits, like a spear through the heart, resulted to a knockout and a judges made sure everyone was back in prime condition after the engagements. Sure, there were some corrupt judges, places where death was permanent and the government was really oppressive towards normal citizens, but it was safe. It had been made that way, as a paradise for the outcast children such as Mewt, Marche, Ritz and Doned. A place where their dreams were fulfilled and they were accepted. Marche had lots of friends, many of whom were ready to fight for him and he was so fit he could put Olympic athletes to shame. If only it had been real.

Slowly Marche stood up and noticed his clothing had changed. In a way it made sense, that was what had happened last time after all. His blue t-shirt and jeans had turned into a black Judge coat and matching pants. His boots were also black. On Marche's waist were two belts, one for weapons –a beautiful manganese saber and a sturdy Terre rod– and the other for utilities, such as what looked like a pack of law cards and a book. There were also a couple of pouches on the back with various items inside. After studying his equipment, Marche remembered that this was what he had been wearing during his last battle in the fantasy Ivalice. Except for the book, a grimoire if Marches regained mage senses were right. He hadn't really noticed that his skin was tingling faintly, telling him that his mana pool was full and ready to supply energy for his spells. Marche could feel a slight power radiating from the book. He pulled the book out of its harness and checked its contents, only to find empty pages. _An empty grimoire? What use is something like that? _Marche thought curiously and put the book back. He then decided to check out his surroundings. From the window he saw that he was in a forest, but no obvious hint's about the world. Maybe there would be something inside the house that would give him an idea about what to expect from this world?

After a quick search, Marche found the house empty, except a small chest that looked better kept than the other furniture. _Someone's secret stash?_ Marche thought, but dismissed the idea when he found that it wasn't even locked. Inside the chest was a slim rod-like object wrapped in a green cloth. Marche took the object in his hands and unwrapped it. The cloth appeared to be a simple traveling cloak, nothing special really. But the rod was a surprise. It wasn't actually a rod, even though it resembled one when wrapped. _A goddamn rocket launcher!_ Marche almost wept from joy and caressed the dark metal tube. _Maybe I'm not in some medieval fantasy setting! That means modern conveniences! That means less likely to be eaten by a dragon! That means snipers, no more close combat! _Marche thought happily. His happiness didn't have anything to do with the fact that by the laws of looting, he was now a happy owner of the rocket launcher. Really. Why ever would a peaceful student like him want a rocket launcher anyway?

Marche placed the launcher on his back with its sling and then put on the green cloak, hiding the firearm. He didn't want to scare anyone after all. Marche was just about to march out of the house, when an idea crossed his mind: _This could still be a game world just not a fantasy one._ Marche quickly thought of the possibilities. _Abandoned house in the middle of a forest… Resident evil?_ Marche paled with the thought. Even if he retained his ability to cast magic from the previous adventure in Ivalice, the T-virus wasn't something he wanted to test himself against. _Relax. It's not necessarily that. My luck can't be that bad_, Marche thought and breathed deeply. _Still, better keep my guard up_, he thought and prepared a spell. Then another. Blue, almost white light flashed briefly and Marche felt power surging through his body. **Dragon Force** was a simple Blue magic spell that increased both his physical strength and the power of his spells. Then **Mighty Guard**, a defensive buff that increased his resilience. Marche still felt himself weaker than in Ivalice where he was in his ideal strength thanks to the grimoires magic, but with the two spells he was tougher than he was supposed to be. Marche breathed in deeply, feeling that when he opened the door, there would be no going back.

Weather outside was pretty good. Sun shined. Not really that many clouds. _A perfect day for a stroll_, Marche thought and stretched. Suddenly he noticed something flying towards him from the corner of his eye and he barely managed to dodge the thing, although his cloak got scorched. Somebody had thrown a fireball.

"What!" Marche yelped in surprise and tried to locate the attacker, but they had already taken cover in the surrounding forest. _Highwaymen?_ Marche thought and tried to pull his weapons, but he was interrupted by a hail of ice and had to roll to safety.

"Mages… Should've known I had no luck", Marche said to no-one in particular and marked the 'fantasy' option on his mental list. _Still, there appears to be at least some form of firearms. Like last time but ultimately it doesn't matter I guess_, Marche thought as he put his head back into battle. He was in a bad position; these highwaymen had ambushed him on open ground where he could not see them and he couldn't take cover behind anything. They probably had him surrounded too. It had been five years since Marche had last fought a battle like this so he was a little rusty, but he still remembered some things. Over 300 missions and countless clan wars had taught him a lot. _First I should cut off their sight_ Marche decided and a bluish-white light flashed on his fingertips.

"**Sandstorm**" Marche declared and a cloud of whirling sand surrounded him, quickly filling the opening he was trapped in, effectively blinding the ambushers. Marche then dashed towards the hidden tree line. It would cost too much to keep up the sandstorm on such a wide area. Just when Marche got the trees forms back in his sight, he had to roll away to dodge another hail of ice. Marche looked around trying to find out how the enemy mage had found out his position, but the sand cloud was firmly in place around him. Then he saw the cloud distort from a sudden rush of wind from the sky and looked up just in time to see an icedrake fly over, mage riding it releasing another ice spell. Marche rolled away, but an ice spike managed to graze his calf, causing him to cry out in pain. _Great, now my mobility's limited, _Marche cursed in his mind, _it would be too consuming to keep the cloud up and heal at the same time, have to make this fast_. Marche pulled the Terre rod from his belt, resting his weight on the fine leg and prepared a spell. When the icedrake came for another bombing run, Marche was prepared and pointed his wand up at it with a flash of yellow.

"**Thunder**" Lighting flew forth from the bone rods mace-like tip and crashed to the beasts' side with a loud crack. To Marche's surprise, the icedrake kept flying unharmed. Then Marche saw a black caped form drop in to the surrounding sand cloud. _The rider took the hit instead?_ Marche gasped in surprise. Sure, he had seen it happen sometimes, beastmasters who got too attached to their charges and shielded them from harm even though the beasts were supposed to protect them, but never really had he seen anyone jump off their ride in mid-air in order to do that. The icedrake growled sadly and dove after the rider, giving Marche a chance to retreat. The chance was then literally blown to bits when an explosion shook the battlefield, the shockwave causing the sand cloud to disperse revealing the wounded beastmaster and a distressed icedrake, along with the remains of the house. Marche took notice that even though the house looked like it was hit with another rocket launcher, there was a major difference. There were no flames, as if the house had been consumed by a flameless explosion. That brought an unwanted memory to Marche's mind: Memory about one harmless looking, white furred nu mou dressed in Lordly Robes and carrying a crimson mace, blowing up stuff with flameless explosions, amongst many other incredible feats of magic prowess. Such as using **Stillness** to incapacitate the whole royal guard of the Bervenia Palace long enough for Marche to sneak in to have an audience with the prince. _One hit from that an I'm done for_, Marche thought and tried to locate the mage who passed as a Runeseeker in this world, soon noticing a dark skinned red haired woman pointing her wand at him. When flames shot out from her position Marche quickly conjured a wall of ice using **Blizzard**, but the small wall of ice wasn't enough and the flames melted it quickly but Marche used that brief moment to get out of the way. Just in time to see smaller fireball flying towards him. And another. And another. The red-haired mage was apparently pissed at him. Marche countered with three** Blizzard**s and saw from the corner of his eye something pink running towards the wounded beastmaster. _I see. A distraction while they evacuate the wounded_ Marche deducted and decided to pull out the big guns. Literally.

"Alright then! Nobody moves!" Marche shouted and grabbed the rocket launcher with his free hand, pulling it from his back and pointing it towards the immobile beastmaster and icedrake. He was holding it upside down like an overgrown tonfa, with his pinky at the trigger.

"You see this? Know what it does? Move and I'll teach those two through experience!" Marche threatened. It was a bit low blow, taking a hostage but Marche didn't really plan on shooting. He had killed a few times back in Ivalice, but those were not pleasant memories. Mostly because of the guys he killed. Also, he felt it would be kind of a waste to spend his only rocket on already injured rider and a mount. But these highwaymen didn't know it. They all froze on their spots, redhead in mid-chant and the pink form stumbled. Marche turned his head a little, keeping the redhead in his sights but taking the others in it too. The pink form turned out to be a little girl with a long pink hair. She was wearing a black coat and some sort of uniform. A glance told Marche that the redhead had one too as did the rider, at least for the cape part. _Some sort of uniform?_ Marche thought and leveled a glare at the girl. She too, had a wand on her hand.

"Call out your friends in the forest! And get over there!" Marche nudged his head towards the beastmaster, twirling the Terre rod on his hand and then pointing it encouragingly towards the redhead who seemed a bit reluctant to follow. The two mages said nothing and walked to their friend, who was finally getting up, leaning heavily on a long staff.

"I said, call off your friends!" Marche said angrily. They seemed to think he was stupid.

"There… There is no-one else!" said the pink one.

"Yeah right! I'm supposed to believe that a group of kids goes around pillaging on the countryside? You think I'm an idiot?" Marche yelled back and shifted the rocket launchers aim from the dragon to her. The girl went white and started to stutter something unrecognizable.

"Stop it! I'm coming out!" Marche turned his head and saw an older woman with green hair coming out of the forest. She wasn't wearing the same uniform with the mages nor did she have any visible weapons on her.

"You're the leader, eh? Get in line, I've got questions to ask", Marche pointed the Terre rod at her, in case she tried something. She nodded and walked to the girls in silence, but exchanging an unnoticed glance with the blue haired rider.

"Okay, now who are you? Why did you attack me out of the blue?" Marche threw the question at the green haired woman. Who stared at him calmly, as if he wasn't leveling a rocket launcher at her.

"You can call me Miss Longueville. These are Louise, Kirche and Tabitha. They are students at the Tristan academy of Magic", the woman introduced her group, nodding towards the pink, red and blue haired girls.

"I myself am the secretary of the headmaster", she concluded her introductions. _Academy of magic? Tristan? Doesn't ring any bells. Great, no information about the world then. But an academy of magic? Maybe they could tell me something about grimoires…_ Marche concluded and was about to ask, but was interrupted my Miss Longueville.

"Oh, and why did we attack you? Because you are the famous thief Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt and just last night you stole that Staff of Destruction from our academy's treasury. Don't try to deny it, you were seen in the scene and you just walked out of his hideout, wearing his cloak and you have the stolen artifact on your person," the woman said calmly, "And I would advise you to give yourself in now. If you do, we can talk to the authorities for you and you probably won't be executed, merely sentenced for life or something along those lines." Marche stared at her, his mind racing: _Come on! I got here ten minutes ago and I'm already a wanted criminal! With a stupid name! Isn't that a woman's name anyway?_

"Fouquet who? Never heard of anyone like that. Name's –" Marche started to explain, but the woman cut him off.

"As I said, please don't try that. You are holding the stolen artifact. Technically, you could be someone who hired the thief to steal it, which would still make you a criminal, but you are wearing the very same cloak as the thief did. Hence, you are Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt."

"Didn't you call the artifact a staff? I don't carry one. This cloak? I picked it up from the house which one of you so kindly demolished. Clearly it would have assaulted someone if left alone. And my name is–" Marche stopped when he noticed that Louise had gasped and was staring right behind him. Through a reflex Marche didn't know he had, he lifted up his arm that held the rocket launcher and managed to block a strike aimed at his head from behind. However, the strike was too powerful and it threw unprepared Marche on the ground a few feet away. As he hit the ground, he started rolling, trying to gain a bit of distance between himself and the enemy, obviously a melee fighter of some sort. _Should've known they had a fighter to go melee with the dragon,_ Marche cursed his stupidity, _but luckily he is also a fool. He should've put the blade against my neck or something, not try to slash at full power._ Marche sized up this new threat. He wasn't wearing a uniform of course, it was probably the magic academy's uniform and he was a fighter. Although his clothes were weird for a warrior too, a blue hooded jacket and what looked like a pair of jeans. _Maybe this is some kind of joint group of two schools, made up to take care of criminals and other small quests in the countryside, _Marche concluded and kept rolling, the guy had started to chase him, swinging around his ridiculously decorated sword. It was the kind that rich folk hung up on their mansions wall, so they could tell tall tales about it to their guests or kids. This guy was probably some pampered noble kid. Marche tumbled out of the way of another cleave, and stood up, when the noble kid stared dumbfounded at his sword, which had snapped in two when it hit a large stone jutting out of the ground.

"Playtimes over kid, now go join your friends or I'll use this", Marche said and pointed the rocket launcher again at the women, who had pointed their wands at him, but couldn't throw a spell because the swordsman would be caught in the blasts. To Marche's surprise, the kid merely grinned at him and pulled another sword from his back, this one old and rusty, but with a familiar feel. One which Marche had felt around Mewt's grimoire and the Totemas of Ivalice, the feel of ancient power. _Why did he bother with the butter knife when he had something like that? _Marche gulped.

"What are you doing? Get in line or I'll use this!" Marche said uncertainty present in his voice. He had no doubt that the Totemas or Mewt's grimoire could take a hit from a rocket launcher and survive. That sword might be able to do something unexpected.

"No, you won't. Because", the boy –no the man– said and dashed at Marche, who pulled the trigger half out of surprise. Nothing happened and the swordsman hit the rocket launcher with his sword, causing Marche to let go.

"The safety is on." The man grinned at Marche as the launcher hit the ground few feet away.

"You have got to be kidding me", Marche facepalmed in embarrassment of such an epic fail.

"I'm amazed you didn't try to wave it like some sort of demented wand", the swordsman snickered, his voice reeking of mirth.

"Oh shut up. You use that sword like a mattock", Marche spat back at the man and svung the Terre rod at his head. The swordsman blocked it effortlessly, but at the same time Marche pulled his manganese saber, trying to smash the hilt at his unprotected abdomen. The swordsman evaded it by jumping out of reach. Also out of the area of potential blasts. _Jump like that without preparation is unnatural, he must have some spells to empower his strength_, Marche thought and decided to make his escape. He still had a few seconds before the mages could launch spells at him. He could throw one spell and he knew just the right one. Holding his arms up, he focused his magic for a moment and declared the spell:

"**Night.**" A flash of blue light lit up the clearing and Marche made his escape, not staying to check how many got affected by the spell. **Night** put people to sleep, discriminating only between the caster and everyone else. The caster stayed awake, the others were overwhelmed by sleepiness, although after using it a few times Marche had come to conclusion that the spell was relatively easy to resist. Out of the six enemies in the clearing, Marche believed only three would be hit. The redhead Kirche who would be exhausted already for pulling many spells in a row, the blue haired girl Tabitha who was wounded and the pink haired Louise, who just seemed unimpressive. The swordsman's might be affected too, but it depended on if the sword would protect him from magic or not. The dragon and the leader would no doubt resist the spell, but judging from what he had seen, Marche was ready to bet that they would stay to look over their comrades. It actually reminded him of the days he spent with his clan.

Another explosion shook the forest. Marche looked to his right, just in time to some trees falling on the ground en masse. _Of course the Runeseeker would resist the spell_ Marche berated himself and prepared to cast another spell. He hoped it would be the last, his reserves were running low. Marche turned sharply wincing when his weight was supported only by the wounded leg and took cover behind a still standing tree. He was shocked to who out of the six people in the clearing were still up. Louise and Tabitha, though the latter was leaning heavily on her staff. _So she's the Runeseeker? Talk about deceptive appearance! _Marche thought, but then he remembered that not even Babus Swain was exactly what people described as dreadful according to his looks. Marche shrugged and cast the spell.

"**Matra Magic**." Another flash and two iridescent triangles burst into existence from the ball of magic energy that had formed atop the Terre rod. They then flew forth towards the Runeseeker, stopping at her sides. Then a bolt of colorless electricity arced between the triangles, shocking Louise briefly before fading out. Satisfied with the results, Marche disappeared into the forest. The Runeseeker wouldn't be able to pursue him, for **Matra Magic** was a real mage killer. In Ivalice its effects were explained as: Living things energies could be split into two categories: physical energy (stamina) and magic energy (MP, Marche had never really learned what the letters meant, but considering that the world had a video game as a basis, he concluded it stood for Magic Points or Mana Pool). Physical energy would be used for physical activities such as moving and magical energy for doing magic. **Matra Magic** messed this up, so that physical energy would be used for magic and magical energy for physical activities. And since most mages tended to be on the squishy side, getting hit by the **Matra Magic** crippled their combat abilities.


	2. Chapter 2: The Robin Hood maneuver

_Author's notes: This came out faster than I planned, now I'm feeling tired. And I really couldn't think of a name for the village. Also, Wardes has always looked suspicious as hell to me._

_To Hymn of Ragnarok: This is all your fault. Could you now tell me what you mean with 'dry'? I got no idea what you mean. I appreciate constructive criticism, but it's just cruel to leave me hanging like that. And there is much exposition because it's the first chapters, so I'm going to rant a lot about the setting and stuff. That goes double for this chapter, but with the setting explained I can take it easy and focus on the story._

_To Cataquack Warrior: Changed the summary a little, so it fits for a longer story. I do have some long term things planned._

_To everyone: Thanks for the reviews, it feels nice to be appreciated! Now, read and review!_

_End notes._

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_Thinking_

"Speaking"

**Spells, or scene**

**Chapter 2 **

**The Robin Hood maneuver**

**Baron's Rest trading post and inn**

Marche sighed and leaned back on his chair. A few days had passed since the battle in the clearing and his sudden arrival in this world. His wounds had healed easily with a **Cure** spell and he had been almost in top condition when the night had come and the twin moons rose to the sky. There had been no pursuers, just as Marche had planned, although the next day he was sure he had seen the icedrake patrolling the sky. Or maybe 'patrol' was too strong word. Marche was sure that they wouldn't be as stupid as to think that they could spot him from the sky when he was inside a forest, so he had adopted an idea that the group had dispatched the rider, Tabitha, to deliver a message to their superiors about the failed mission and his description so that whatever city guard or whatever equivalent they had was ready to pounce on him when he stepped in from a city gate. So when Marche had finally found his way out of the forest, he had decided to stay away from settlements and gather information in disguise. He had stuffed his black Judge coat in an improvised rucksack created from the green cloak, leaving Marche with a white tunic with a broad red stripe going horizontally over the upper body and continuing on the sleeves, an Onlyone. In Ivalice it was said that if you had an Onlyone, you would need no other shirt because the cloth was so sturdy it would never wear or tear. Richer ninjas and thieves actually used them in place of armor. Marche had also hid his Terre rod so that his mage abilities were not so obvious. Actually Marche's outfit looked very similar to the one that the swordsman wore the other day. By following the road, Marche had eventually reached the Baron's rest, a moderate sized trading post with an inn and a few craftsmen. The traders and craftsman were surprisingly loose lipped and Marche had learned a lot.

The country was called Tristain and its neighbors were called Albion, Gallia and Germania. Albion didn't ring any bells, but Germania was obviously reference to Germany and Marche swore he had heard about Gallia in his history lessons, although he didn't remember where. The world was known as Halkeginia. In Tristain, system of government was monarchy and the current ruler was someone called Princess Henrietta. Nobles were the ruling class and they were all mages. Or more correctly, one had to be a mage to be a noble. Some sort of divine rule set by the local messiah figure. This made most of the nobles think that they were oh-so-much better than the 'commoners'. Seriously, the situation was almost as bad as it was in Ivalice! The nobles were unquestioned authority, they could essentially treat the commoners as they wanted and the only thing holding them back appeared to the need to look good in the eyes of the other bluebloods. Nobles could be dishonored by their families or by the royalty if they misused their positions. Such was apparently the case of Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt, the master thief whose name would soon be associated with Marche. Nobody knew who this Fouquet was before his criminal career, but there were some wild theories considering his identity ranging from a bastard child of the previous king to a young nobleman whose commoner lover committed suicide after her family's properties were confiscated in some noble's political scheme. Fouquet apparently stole only from nobles and left solid walls turned into dirt as her trademark. Sometimes there were even short insulting messages. All in all, he sounded like Marche's kind of guy, if he wasn't forced to take the backlash of Fouquet's heists, he would buy the guy a drink or something.

Another interesting point –at least for Marche– was that the group that had come after him, was not exactly a common occurrence here in Tristain. Such things were usually taken care by the military organizations, mainly the Griffin Knights, Manticore Knights or Wind Dragon Corps. Sometimes the Princess sent her own guard, the Royal Musketeers to take care of things, although they were supposed to be some sort of spec ops division that obeyed only the Princess. They apparently used muskets, which caused Marche to ponder the rocket launchers origins, but he left it at that. The curious thing about the musketeers was that they were all commoners, as if the Princess didn't trust the nobles. Anyway, Marche had her pegged as his target. The situation was close enough to the last incident with a grimoire and she was like Mewt: a young ruler with no challengers to her authority in a world that had some resemblance to the real world. Marche was sure that if he dug around a little he would find that she had an ancient grimoire stashed in somewhere. It might be just a coincidence, but it was the only lead Marche had.

And that lead to Marche's current predicament. He was, essentially planning a raid to the royal palace. Again. But this time, he had no clan at his back. No Babus to stop the guards, no Cid to chase away the possible equivalent of Llednar Twem. And that scared him. He still had nightmares about the red clad knight, even though he saw with his own eyes how he turned to stone and crumbled when his **Omega** was overwhelmed by Marche's **Ultima Shot** reinforced with **Turbo-MP**. Marche had learned the whole technique just for that purpose and he hadn't used it after that. It ate almost all his MP at once and the damage reflected it. Llednars crumbled remains in the crater in Ambervale were testimony to that. That Marche still feared him was a proof of how disturbing Llednar was. He was the avatar of Mewt's negative emotions after all; his whole presence screamed bloody murder and "obey me or die". Oh, and he was essentially created to stop Marche from erasing the Ivalice, by any means possible. Marche really hoped there wasn't anyone like that in Halkeginia. Anyway, Marche needed allies if he hoped to succeed. _But where could I find them? This place has no clan system and I doubt I could just hire some mercenaries. Especially without money_, Marche thought and fiddled his coin pouch. He had sold a few of his potions when he arrived, but the money was mostly gone already. Marche really had no idea about the local currency, so he didn't know if he was being scammed, but there was little he could do. _I suppose I could try to gain allies from the locals. It worked well during the Clan Wars _Marche planned, grinning with the memories. The clans back in Ivalice were practically all about the turfs. Sure, missions were how the clans funded themselves, but turfs were the thing that gave clans respect and privileges. Merchants gave special deals for the clans in charge of the area and the citizens gave gifts or did favors, especially if the clans treated people who lived in their turf well. Marche's clan, the Alodia was a prime example of that. Marche had never learned how exactly the people living around the Bervenia Palace kept it secret from the queen and her men that the very person they were tearing the country apart to find was in charge of the turf on which the palace stood. It had been the source of many jokes back in the days.

Marche thought over his situation for one last time and sighed with resignation. He'd have to proceed with the 'Robin Hood maneuver.' He was already mistaken for a famous criminal so he should use it for his advantage and gain the support of the commoners by robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. Commoners were everywhere, so once Marche had them on his side he'd have an excellent information network and it would be only a matter of time when he would find people who could help him. Marche emptied the tankard of watered down beer he had bought to help him think and walked to his room in the back of the inn. _There is supposed to be a little village nearby with a summer manor of some minor noble. Probably as good place to start as any_, Marche reasoned as he packed his scarce belongings in a freshly bought brown leather bag and left for the road. He had paid in advance for one more day, but he felt it would serve no purpose to linger around any longer. He stopped briefly to notice that there was a new wanted poster for Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt nailed on the wall of the trading post. The last one didn't have a description and it looked like the bounty had gone up too. _Hmm… Three thousand gold coins and a title of 'chevalier' whatever that is. Sounds like french_, Marche thougth as he inspected the poster. The describtion was fairly short, just saying he had blond hair, ridiculous hairstyle and blue eyes, wore green cloak and black clothes and that he was at least a triangle level mage with earth as his main and wind and water as his sub elements. Marche had learned that 'triangle level' translated to 'above average' in the local mage community and it meant that one could stack three elements to a spell. The elements were earth, fire, water, air and the lost void element. The element mages generally had one element they specialized in and could perform some simple spells of the other elements, thought the sub elements were mainly to modify their main element spells, for example a whirlwind could be generated as a pure wind spell but if the mage added a water element with the wind it would create an ice spell. Generally this would mean that the element mages had superior control over their spells when compared to Marche. Skilled fire mages could use their magic to not only throw fireballs, but also skewer their enemies with fire spears, create walls of fire between them and their enemies or just conjure a mighty pillar of fire to incinerate everything on the area. Marche's control on the other hand was on the level of creating fireballs of different sizes. He couldn't create anything complex. But the color magic still had a cutting edge when compared to the local element magic. Human color mages could learn both offensive Black and defensive White magic. It was actually required if one wanted to learn Blue magic or Phantasm skills. Marche glanced imperceptibly around if anyone was connecting him to the posters description and when no-one seemed to be paying attention he walked away.

**A few days ago, Tristan academy of Magic**

"So the thief forfeited the staff and escaped?" asked headmaster Osmond of the Tristan academy of Magic while looking over the mostly exhausted team of students and a familiar.

"Yes headmaster. After Saito made him drop the Staff, he casted a sleep spell on everyone but me and Tabitha and escaped into the forest. I tried to hit him when he ran, but he evaded and hit me with unknown wind spell" explained Louise. Out of everyone who had gone after the thief, she looked to be the one with the least damage. She didn't even appear to be tired.

"Really? What kind of spell?" Osmond asked curiously.

"He conjured two glowing triangles that flew around and zapped me before disappearing. After that I couldn't cast magic at all and he disappeared into the forest" Louise spoke and sent a glare towards Kirche who snickered at her words.

"Hmm. With all due respect miss Valliere, your spells… Aren't always successful", Osmond said trying to be polite.

"I don't mean that!" Louise yelled in indignation, and then looked shocked at her outburst before continuing sheepishly, "I mean… There weren't even explosion. It was as if I had no more willpower."

"Is that so?" Osmond said and stroked his beard thoughtfully before answering, "Interesting. There are some wind spells that use electricity to affect mages casting ability. They aren't so common, because generally it's more useful to eliminate the target with a lightning bolt than to just incapacitate them momentarily." He then nodded to Louise and talked to the whole group.

"Anyway, the thief might have escaped but you got the Staff of Destruction back, which means you completed the mission. I'm sure Fouquet will now think twice before trying something like that again. I thank you all in behalf of the Tristan academy of Magic and I have requested the imperial court to reward you with the title of chevalier and since Tabitha already has the title, I requested that she will be given the Elven medallion. Even if you didn't catch the thief, I'm sure you will get these rewards, for you did regain the artifact" Osmond announced and three faces brightened with pride, although only Kirche noticed it from Tabitha.

"Headmaster Osmond… What about Saito and miss Longueville? If she hadn't distracted Fouquet or he disarmed him you could be reading ransom demands now", asked Louise, glancing at the two at the back of the room.

"I'm afraid I can do nothing for him since he is a familiar and not a noble, but miss Longueville will gain a noticeable bonus on her usual wage for this." Osmond said a bit apologetically.

"It's fine. I don't need anything." Saito said with a nod and Longueville presented her heartfelt thanks and left after hugging Saito as a reward for saving her life. This caused every other male in the room to stare at him jealously and Louise in indignation.

"I almost forgot, Tonight's Ball of Frigg will resume as planned since we have gotten back the Staff of Destruction" Osmond said and gathered everyone's attention.

"That's right. Let's forget about Fouquet and dance all night long!" Kirche cheered.

"The main attraction of the ball will be you three. So go get ready and dress up!" Osmond smiled at them when they left the room with the exception of Saito who told Louise he'd come over in a minute.

**A little village ****on the edge of the forest**

Marche arrived to the village just when the sun started to set and everything was dyed red. To Marche's eyes, it looked a bit ominous and he was considering that maybe he should start from the bottom and take care of some stray monsters or something first. After all, he was still rusty from his few year break from magic. He had regained a lot of his spells already, but he was still uncertain if he could pull off successfully something big. And he probably would need something big if he were to pillage a noble's manor, even if said noble was away at the moment. Marche still walked into the village and looked for an inn. He would need a meal and information first. Even if the trading post was fairly near the village, the information might still be inaccurate or old. After a bit of searching Marche found himself in a small quiet tavern with a few people gossiping. He bought himself a drink and sat alone at a table, close enough to hear what the people were talking about.

"…tell you it is Wardes the Lighting himself! What's he doing in a small village such as this?" said one of the men, sounding agitated.

"Relax. They say he is the best that the nobility has to offer, he's probably here because of the mayors experiments. You'll see, when he finds whatever's causing those noises at night he'll fry the whole manor" said the other, sounding reassured.

"You sure? I heard that the mayors a square class water mage. Not many can take on something that powerful" said the first voice and Marche was suddenly very glad he had stopped to gather information. Square class meant strong as hell. And water mages were famous for their ability to tamper with the human body. Usually they were healers but they made more than decent poisoners too. Marche had a small pouch of cureall, but he didn't want to waste it. Constant casting of **Esuna** would also be a liability. All in all, it would probably be unwise to try and steal from this particular noble. At this time, at least.

"Of course! Lord Wardes is the captain of the Griffin knights and a square class wind mage! They say that out of all mages, wind mages are the most deadly in combat!" The other one boasted and Marche started to plot a tactical retreat. _Two high level mages, such a bad luck. And the other one is in military! I have to get out, he's probably seen my wanted poster and he sounds like a guy who won't be fooled by disguise as shoddy as this_, Marche almost panicked and cursed that he hadn't changed his hairstyle. It would have been so easy to just tie it on a ponytail or something. It would be suspicious of him to do so now. Marche took a sip from his drink and left the half-full tankard on the table, making a beeline for the door. Just when he got to it, the door was opened and in stepped the most suspicious looking man Marche had ever seen. He wore a large feathered hat on his head and had a long hair and a beard. The hair sprawled out from under the hat, hiding a part of the man's face. He was dressed in a long elaborate jacket that Marche likened to a trench coat. Add in the rapier hanging from his belt and the man would've been right at home as a villain in some movie taking place in renaissance French. _Or maybe more correctly, in a video game_ Marche thought and stepped aside, allowing the man to walk past him. He nodded to Marche in thanks, his gaze lingering at Marche a bit longer than he was comfortable with. The gasps of awe he heard from the tavern patrons confirmed his suspicions. _This guy is Wardes_, Marche thought and tried to keep his cool as he walked out. He could feel Wardes staring at his back. Immediately after Marche turned past a corner, he started to run. If Wardes attacked him in the village not only would it gather the attention of the powerful mayor, but would probably also cause the villagers to attack him in order to support the man they revered. If Marche defended himself, he would make enemies out of the locals and that would destroy the plan.

Just when Marche was about to get out of the village, he heard a screech and something crashed in front of him. Marche's hand shot out to his saber and he cast the **Dragon Force** on himself. This close to the village edge, he could incapacitate the mage and disappear into the forest again. To Marche's surprise, in front of him was not Wardes but a masked man riding a winged beast Marche recognized as a griffin. _Is this guy part of the Griffin Knights_? Marche thought. Of course the captain of the knights had knights with him. Marche shot out his sabre, ready to blast the nameless knight with a spell, when the knight raised his hands, leaving the wand at his waist.

"Stop! I'm not your enemy!" He said with a strong voice.

"Riding a griffin while the captain of the Griffin knights is in town?" Marche spat at him, but did not release the spell.

"Just because I have a griffin does not mean I'm a knight."

"Hmph, true enough. Speak then, but I'm in a bit of a hurry" Marche said and spared a glance behind him. No guard in sight.

"Yes, the captain of the Griffin knights is an intelligent man and has help you won't be able to lose him while on foot, even if you hide in the forest. But you are lucky. He is just passing through this village for he has urgent business somewhere else, he won't have time to pursuit you if you take the skies." The man explained.

"You offering a ride?" Marche asked. He swore he could hear people coming closer.

"Yes, but there are conditions, Mister Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt" the man said and even though he wore a mask, Marche was sure he was grinning.

"I'm not Fouquet" Marche said nonchalantly and slapped himself mentally. If what the guy said was true, he needed the ride.

"Please, don't underestimate the information network of my employer's mister Fouquet. They might decide you are not worth the trouble" the man spoke, but Marche could tell he was not serious. He merely wanted to see him squirm.

"Sorry. What conditions?" Marche asked and licked his lips nervously.

"We are in need of talented mages and a triangle such as yourself would be just what we need" the man said and was about to continue, but just then Marche heard running sound and he looked back to see Wardes running towards him, pulling his rapier out.

"Deal. Make room please!" Marche said and jumped aboard, just behind the masked man, who then commanded the griffin to get into air. A lightning bolt cut through the air, but the agile beast dodged it effortlessly. Marche sheathed his saber and grabbed the man with his free hand.

"What's the name of our employer?" Marche asked as the beast rose higher where the spells wouldn't reach. Marche barely heard his answer through the sound of large wings slapping the wind.

"We are the Reconquista."


	3. Chapter 3: First day at a new job

Author's notes: I guess that since I made chapter two earlier than planned, it's only fair that this comes a bit later. It was surprisingly hard to write, maybe I should read the light novels again to get some more facts about Reconquista. Or maybe I should just read further, I've only read the first 12 after all.

To ToAruKagakuNoPersona: Thank you! I actually went through a dictionary, but there was no mention about using 'dry' when talking about a story. Now I can see about correcting that in the coming chapters.

To ResetTheWorld: Now I feel embarrassed. How did I not notice a mistake like that? In the first paragraph nonetheless! I was planning on finding a beta reader when this was about four or five chapters long, but thanks to ToAruKagakuNoPersona I think I'll look for one in the coming weeks. I don't think I can correct my 'dryness' without one.

To dan heron: Breaking down the paragraphs, thanks for the suggestion!

To everyone else: Thanks for reading! I hope many will review in the future!

End notes.

_Thinking_

"Speaking"

Spells, or setting

_Flashback_

=Change in POV=

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 3**

**First day at a new job**

_**Flashback, minutes after the escape**_

"_**So this… Reconquista was it? What are they?" Marche asked the masked man as their griffin rose higher. It was actually getting quite cold, but the masked man didn't seem to mind.**_

"_**We are a… group of concerned nobles. We want to unite these lands under one banner and then take back the holy land from the elves" the man said, not bothering to turn around.**_

"_**Unite these lands? Take back the holy land? Isn't that like, the popes job or something?" Marche asked, while his mind raced: Okay, Cloak and Dagger group found. Are they heroes or villains? Or a third party?**_

"_**Yes… Normally it would be, but the current monarchs are mostly cowards who care for nothing else but their own gain. They fear they would lose their positions if they attacked the elves. Moreover, not one nation has currently the power to oppose the elves", the masked man explained. Cliché, no wonder I did not play this game, with a plot like this. Let's hope there is more to this than it seems. Could also be that they are the villains, they usually have corny lines. Although they are against the royals… Maybe I could use them to sneak near the Princess? Marche grinned.**_

"_**So what do you need me for? I have some experience in commanding small battle groups" And regicide Marche added darkly in his mind.**_

"_**We have an informant in the Princess's inner circle and he has informed us that she is going to send a messenger through the rebel –our– blockade to prince Wales of Albion. We do not know the exact contents of the message, but they should be something incriminating that we can use to show the people the true face of their monarch."**_

"_**Sounds like a plan. I am to intercept this message then?"**_

"_**No, that is my job. Your job will be handling the messenger's escorts. They might prove problematic if they all can reach the prince. You see, we have plans for the prince as well. It is critical for them, that the messenger reaches the prince."**_

"_**You mean to assassinate the prince and frame the messenger, I take it?" Marche asked, not quite sure what he should think. This Reconquista appeared to be a bit dark organization and Marche did not want to be on the antagonist side of any game, for it tended to end bad for them. I suppose I could use this chance to check out the prince of Albion, just to be safe. After all, monarchs tend to have some sort of secret knowledge with them. Maybe he is even one of the people who used the grimoire to create this place, Marche thought about the situation. The chance was remote, after all if they used a grimoires power to become monarchs, why not have loyal subjects? Of course, this world might have been around longer than Ivalice had. Maybe that meant something.**_

"_**Something along those lines, yes."**_

_**Flashback end**_

* * *

><p><strong>On the road to the port town La Rochelle<strong>

Marche stood on a cliff, inspecting the road below. He was wearing his cloak and Judge coat again, along with the Manganese saber and Terre rod completing his 'battle equipment'. He was also holding a lone Law card between his thumb and index finger. Marche inspected the faintly gleaming card with a stylized lightning bolt in its middle. _Okay then. Plan A_, Marche thought and released the Law card's magic, making it disappear in a bright flash. He looked over the area once more, but when he didn't notice any difference he casted a small **Thunder** spell on a boulder nearby. The bolt shattered the stone and the smaller pieces melted into glass. Marche waited for some sort of penalty for breaking the new law he had set upon the area, but nothing happened.

"Tch, too bad." Marche mumbled to himself and waved his hand, holding two fingers up as a sign for his comrades –no, these were mercenaries, employees– that the plan had changed. _So the Laws are useless without the judges to enforce them. Plan B it is then_, Marche thought and sighed, _what should I do with the remaining cards now? Maybe there's a collector or something for magic cards. Who knows? I might even earn something_. Marche then spared one last glance down at the road. The place was perfect for an ambush, the people at the road had no way to get up at the cliff easily. They would have to retreat back or try to push forward, maybe try to take a shot at him with bows or flintlocks. Were his targets not capable of magic, he would be sure winner.

But that was not the case, even if the Princess didn't trust the nobles. If what the masked man had said was right, then at least the captain of the Griffin Knights would be there. Marche really wasn't keen on the idea that he had to attack a group that had at least one square level mage in it, but according to the informant the Reconquista had in the Princess's inner circle, Wardes would be flying ahead of the group with his fiancée, some young daughter of a duke. Marche planned to use that for his advantage. Despite how the man appeared to Marche, he had a reputation as the model knight, so chivalry would no doubt be part of his package and that means Wardes would no doubt place his lady's safety as one of his top priorities. So, if a sudden thunderstorm were to appear, he would take her somewhere safe and La Rochelle was quite near for a flying mount. And then the ground team would have no air support. Marche could focus on raining spells on them from the cliff and when they would try to return fire, the hired mercenaries could ambush them from the back with bows. Simple, but effective plan.

Marche stepped away from the cliff so that the hired help wouldn't see him casting the Phantasm skill. It was a bit risky to use a spell with no local equivalent, but Marche was sure that even if the mercenaries saw him cast it, they wouldn't know enough about magic to notice or care. Other risk was that Wardes might take notice of the sudden weather change and become cautious, even if he wouldn't recognize the spell.

"**Tempest**" Marche voiced the skill and waved the Terre rod to keep up appearances for the off chance that somebody saw him. Yellow energy compressed into a ball before him and then flew off into the sky, where it assumed the form of a quickly darkening cloud, much like the ones already present. Marche then took cover in the woods, for his targets would appear soon.

Marche didn't have to scan the sky for long, because soon he saw a lone griffin in the sky. It was actually disturbingly close and Marche feared he might have compromised his ambush, but the riders didn't seem cautious at all. As a matter of fact, they appeared to be bickering about something. Marche couldn't hear what they were arguing about, but that really didn't matter to him. With a mental command, Marche activated the illusion spell he had thrown to the sky and soon enough, there was a loud rumble and an authentic looking flash illuminated the sky. That got the riders attention and Marche's eyes widened when he saw that Wardes's companion had a pink hair and a black cloak. _Should've known this! She's some sort of aide to the Princess, just like Babus! Of course the Princess would send her along with this mission_, Marche cursed, _anyway this plan works on her too. Just have to hope she can't teleport like Babus could while he was in Mewt and Remedi's service._

Marche send some more lighting out from his **Tempest**, while decreasing the time between the rumbles and flashes in order to give an image of a storm coming closer. Just as Marche had predicted, the griffin took off for La Rochelle with new zeal leaving the ones on the road without escort. Marche kept the false thunder cloud in the air a while longer and when the griffin was but a blur against the sky, he let the spell fade. Phantasm skills were really powerful, but in return they were really hard to keep up, as the skills required intense concentration or they would unravel. That's why illusionists in Ivalice limited their illusions to small timeframes. Phantasm skills also drained a good bit of the caster's MP, but Marche had plenty to spare even without the **Halve MP** ability that cut the spell cost in half. Marche spared one final glance towards the city and then concentrated on the road.

It took surprisingly long time for Wardes's companions to arrive at the ambush spot. _Why would Wardes keep such a distance on the others? Is he not supposed to protect them while they take the Princess's message to the prince of Albion? _Marche wondered as the two horsemen finally closed in, revealing an unknown kid and a familiar face: the swordsman who had attacked Marche from behind when he had arrived into this world. Marche had a small grudge against the boy for that, since he had probably broken the rocket launcher when Marche used it to block his sneak attack. _Well, it's payback time_, Marche thought and waved the Terre rod in a raising motion.

"Blah blah blah, **Sandstorm!**" Marche chanted and a cloud of sand rose from the road, blinding and abrading the horses and their riders. Another interesting difference between color and element mages was that color mages had absolutely no need for any incantations, no matter how powerful the spell. Marche deducted that it had something to do with their video game origins, but he really didn't care since it worked in his advantage. He had still decided to at least pretend to chant for his spells, so as to mask his unusual magic.

The spell worked marvelously and Marche heard the horses pained screams when they lost their footing and crashed onto the rocks, not to mention the countless grains of sand that grinded their skin away, filling their eyes and mouths obstructing their breathing. The ambush was perfect; both riders were caught completely by surprise, no doubt too tired from riding nonstop all day. For a moment Marche actually thought that he had got them both with the opening, but then something popped out of the sand cloud. Marche recognized it as the unknown rider and soon his companion, the swordsman popped out too, the ancient sword in hand. Marche still felt a bit reserved about the weapon, but since there was unclimbable cliff between him and it, he shrugged it off.

_Hmm. Is that guy a wind mage?_ Marche studied the unknown teen and noticed that he was moving without actually moving his legs. Suddenly spears flew from the sand cloud, but they hit the cliff wall and bounced off harmlessly. Marche raised his eyebrow questioningly at the spears, but then refocused on the mages feet. There were something curled around them and Marche could make out a dark humanoid form in the cloud. _But there were no-one else there…_ Marche thought until he remembered a tidbit he had heard about earth mages: they were adept at making stuff through transmutation. Not only did they make all major buildings in this world, but they also made golems that could move and do simple chores when the mage watched over them. And currently the earth mage wished to be above the cloud, so the golems were holding him up. _Nice plan but easily countered_, Marche thought and pointed his rod towards them.

"**Thunder!**" A flash of yellow was followed by a lightning bolt that struck the humanoid shapes inside the cloud and the mage yelled as he fell back into the cloud. Marche then fired another bolt at the remaining one, but the swordsman evaded with an inhuman leap that left Marche gaping. _What was that? Some sort of magic boots like the Galmia shoes in Ivalice? Or an enchantment spell like _**Dragon Force**_? _Marche's mind raced as he threw another **Thunder** at the swordsman to keep him from retaliating. _Of course! It's that sword! It must boost his physical ability like the Sequencer, only_– Marche's thoughts were cut off when a fireball hit him in the back, almost pushing him down the cliff. He yelped in surprise as he felt flames caress his back and burning his cloak and hair. Panicking from the sudden attack, Marche almost dropped the Terre rod as he somersaulted away from the cliff and then begun roll down the cliffside to put the fire out. Not an easy job, when it was raining fireballs.

Through some stroke of luck, Marche managed to roll behind a large rock and get back up again so he could face his ambushers, who appeared to be rest of the academy students he had faced several days ago riding the icedrake. _So that's why Wardes had such a distance between himself and the others. They still had air support without him_, Marche cursed his carelessness. He was so sure the enemies couldn't get at him that he hadn't even used **Dragon Force **or **Mighty Guard **on himself. If not for the Judge coat, Marche would have lost already. The superb coat had not even caught fire despite taking a clear hit from a fireball!

"Are the little Princess's soldiers deserting when she only has students like you to send on missions like this?" Marche taunted his opponents, but to his surprise the two students' didn't seem to care that he insulted their liege. Maybe they had more combat experience than he thought. The redhead mage –Kirche or something– casted another **Fireball** spell, showing remarkably dull tactical mind. It was the only fire spell Marche had ever seen the woman use, and it hadn't been terribly effective unless one counted the recent ambush from behind. Marche evaded the flames easily and threw back a **Blizzard** of his own only to be countered with yet another fireball.

"Is that the only spell you have learned? What slackers you are, real disgraces of the Academy!" Marche kept taunting, angry enemies tended to make mistakes after all. Kirche answered with a new salvo of fireballs, though this time Marche didn't even have to dodge. The fireballs came in a loose formation and seemed to hit everywhere except the color mage. Marche snickered and was about to insult her again, but the thought died on his lips, when the flames did not recede, they actually grew and blocked his escape routes.

"Damn!" Marche swore and for a second debated in his head should he cast **Shell** or **Mighty Guard** to protect himself. That was too long and a freezing current of air slammed at him, followed by several ice spikes. Marche used the Terre rod as a club and swatted the first one like a fly and then hurled his body on the ground letting the spikes pass him over.

As soon as the spikes had passed, Marche saw from the corner of his eye that the flames were dying and tried to get back up and get clear, but the freezing wind had not yet stopped and Marche felt ice gathering around him. _Oh, come on! This isn't fair_, Marche tried to break free, but because his arms were in such a bad position, he managed to free his legs only. _This is going to hurt_, Marche sighed mentally and casted **Mighty Guard**.

* * *

><p>=Kirche's POV=<p>

"Finally, good job Tabitha!" Kirche congratulated her best friend for finally icing the barbaric thief. When she had snuck out of the academy with Tabitha to catch her Darling and that Zero Valliere, she hadn't thought they would end up fighting the master thief again. Truth to be told, she was first a bit reluctant to attack the man (not that she'd ever admit it) who had fought all four of them off seemingly with no trouble a few days ago, but Tabitha's cool and professional demeanor about it had given her confidence and everything had went perfectly. The thief had barely had any time to cast his spells and his movements were much lazier than she remembered. It was almost too easy to drive him into a corner, so that Tabitha could use her strong ice spells to capture him. It was a bit of a shame that she couldn't see Darling dealing with the thief, but saving his life made up for it. Kirche knew exactly how Darling could pay her back for this…

Kirche had already lowered her wand, but then she saw a something flash near the thief and she pointed it at the thief again. When nothing happened, she shrugged it off as a light reflecting from the ice and turned to the cliff to give an "all clear" to Darling. Tabitha would warn her if the fugitive was about to try anything, not that he could do much with his wand and arms encased in ice.

"Oh, Darling! The thief is apprehended now! Let's celebrate this by–!" Kirche's yell stopped short, when she saw that there was a fight going on down below. Some mercenaries were shooting arrows at Darling and that moron Guiche da Gramont. Or were at least trying to, as Guiche had those golems of his to shield himself and Darling was once again showing off his impressive skills, by dodging the arrows easily as he closed in to the archers at the edge of the woods. There were some defeated mercenaries lying on the ground already, probably ones that were supposed to keep Darling away from the archers. _Hmph, as if they would be mach for my darling Saito! _Kirche snickered at them, before turning around and walking towards Fouquet. _A few kicks on the right places and he'll call the mercenaries off_, Kirche planned nonchalantly. Although she still planned on giving him more kicks later, the guy had hit Tabitha with a lighting spell and cursed Valliere, although the curse didn't seem to have any real effect on her. _And now he attacked Darling_, Kirche thought darkly. Fouquet would be in a world of hurt before he would be handed to the authorities.

When Kirche was just a few feet away from the man, there was another flash and he exploded in flames.

"Suicide?" Kirche heard Tabitha hiss.

"What? The coward decided to take the easy way out?" Kirche asked, voice full of shock. Fouquet hadn't struck her as that type of man. She had expected him to try and escape at some point, not commit a suicide. A man of his type just wouldn't take his life because he was caught!

Soon the magic flames started to flicker and reveal Fouquet's charred corpse. Kirche shrieked in surprise, when she saw what was supposed to be a charred body stand up amongst the shrinking flames, looking actually not much worse for the wear. Fouquet's cloak had been reduced to ashen strips, but the black coat under it seemed to be a bit faded, but it wasn't in tatters as clothes usually hit by fireballs were. _Didn't that coat also weather my surprise attack really well too? _Kirche's mind raced as Fouquet painfully coughed in his hand. His face had some burns on it, but nothing that one really couldn't get from lying in the sun too long. _Protection from flames maybe? How many elements does that guy control?_ Kirche panicked. Fouquet had now casted earth, wind, water and fire spells. That was supposed to be impossible! What next, the lost Void? Tabitha shook Kirche from her musings by casting a simple dot level wind spell to keep Fouquet from recovering.

"Withdraw" Tabitha told Kirche and retreated towards Sylphid. They had all three used many spells already and the two of them knew they wouldn't be able to keep up with Fouquet much longer at close range. Their best bet would be to take the air with Sylphid and bombard the thief from there. If they could challenge the thief in an endurance contest, they could win.

When the duo reached the dragon, Kirche whipped around and threw the weakest fire spell she knew towards the thief in order to buy them time to mount the dragon. To her surprise, Fouquet wasn't hot on their heels as she had thought. The man had actually moved near the cliff, where he shouted retreat orders to his men. Kirche didn't know if she should be impressed that the man had the wellbeing of his men in his mind or should she be insulted that the man didn't seem to want finish what they had started. She still climbed onto Sylphids back, as the chance was too good to let go. Soon the wind dragon was in the air, with both raiders preparing to take turns in bombarding the thief. The thief, who apparently had no intention to fight anymore, he swung his mace-wand and chanted something quickly, summoning a cloud of sand to hide himself.

"The woods", Tabitha stated, pointing her staff towards the nearest trees. Kirche understood immediately what her quiet friend meant and as fast as she could, she lit the nearest trees ablaze. Even if he had protection from flames, he wouldn't walk into burning woods where the falling trees and lack of air would be just as deadly as the flames. Kirche then methodically surrounded the cliff with fire, using up almost all of her willpower to stop the thief from escaping. After a few minutes the cloud started to settle, but when it disappeared, so had Fouquet.

"All that effort and he still escapes" Kirche growled in annoyance as Sylphid started to land beside weary looking Saito and Guiche.

"What did he want?" Guiche asked, tiredness evident in his voice.

"Didn't say. Maybe revenge from the last time?" Kirche guessed and looked towards her Darling.

"Hmm. Maybe so… But considering our mission maybe he had some other business. But what are you doing here?" Darling pondered and sheathed his rusty sword. Kirche didn't understand why he kept that piece of junk around. Sure, it was sturdier than it looked and could talk, but it didn't fit him. The sword Kirche had bought him was much more better looking, even if it had been useless in battle.

"Oh, I'll tell you all about it as we head to La Rochelle Darling! You see, me and Tabitha were…

* * *

><p>=Marche's POV=<p>

**Camp in the forest near La Rochelle**

The mercenaries had set up a crude camp in the middle of the forest, a good distance away from the road. It was there, next to the campfire where Marche moped. The mission had been a failure; retreat had been the only choice. Even if Marche had defeated the duo, his men would've been destroyed. Even if they weren't really his comrades, he still didn't want to lose them. He had decided it in Ivalice, he wouldn't send his men to death, even if the judges made sure there would be no real death. Except in Jagds. If mission was failing completely, it was best to retreat and devise a new strategy. That was Marche's way.

The mercenaries at least looked happy with his decision. It might've had something to do with their payment, but Marche didn't really care. They were alive and with relatively small injuries, that was enough for him. His own wounds were already healed, courtesy of **Cure** spell. His MP on the other hand was lower than ever before in Halkeginia. Not only had he used many spells in the fight, but he had had to use a Phantasm skill to escape the flames. A quick **Prominence** had ensured him a safe path through the forest, but he had had to keep the illusion up as long as he could, for if it had faded in the enemies' presence, they would know exactly where he had gone and that would mean round three too soon. Of course Marche could have recovered almost instantly with the ethers and potions he had, but he wanted to save them. No reason to use them, when he could simply rest to regain his powers.

_But I still got my ass handed to me today_, Marche went over the ambush in his head. His first failure was not to keep a back up for himself, he was too confident with his color magic. He had underestimated the element mages. He wouldn't do so again. From now on, he would always prepare **Dragon Force **and **Mighty Guard** before battle. Even if he was a spectator.

A griffins screech woke him up a few hours later. The masked man had returned, with new orders, no doubt.


	4. Chapter 4: Engage!

Author's notes: Finally it's ready! Can you believe I had this half finished since Christmas? Then I got an arrow in the knee and a writer's block followed. Well, better late than never I guess. Well, anyway real life is pushing hard now and I think you will have to wait for another chapter for a few weeks. Sorry. Reviews motivate me, but I don't think I can make it much faster.

Thanks for those who reviewed! Normally I'd try to go over them one-by-one, but I'm in a hurry. Maybe next time? Now I'l just settle with saying that:

This will follow canon maybe to battle of Tarbes or a little farther. We'll see. Not everything will be focusing on canon though!

I did get a beta, some might have noticed the slight improvements in chapter one, but there was complications and we'll see if I have to get anoher one.

End notes.

_Thinking_

"Speaking"

Spells, or setting

_Flashback_

=Change in POV=

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 4**

**Engage!**

**Camp in the forest near La Rochelle**

"Good job with the ambush Mister Fouquet, I heard you did quite well until the… interlopers came." The Masked man congratulated Marche after he dismounted his griffin. He hadn't told Marche his name because of what Marche interpreted as distrust, so Marche had pegged him as Masked man in his head.

"Interlopers?" Marche shrugged at the compliment, but inwardly he swore that the man called him Mister Fouquet because he wanted to annoy him with the false name.

"Oh yes. The two with the dragon were not originally part of the escort. According to our informant they are friends with one of the escorts and were curious when he left the Academy without informing them," Marche was sure that the Masked man was grinning when he stressed the next words, "so your ambush failed because of simple bad luck. My condolences."

"Shut up. The ambush failed, no matter the reasons. I'm trying again as soon as I can." Marche went straight into business. He didn't like the Masked man, so he wanted to be done with this already.

"Of course. But this time, I'm joining you. Can't have your luck mess everything up again." The Masked man added the last part with just a hint of mirth in his voice. Marche really felt like punching him in the face now, especially because he was right, even if he didn't know how right. He knew Marche had the luck to run into knight captain when on the run and to have his ambush fail because some guy forgot to tell his girlfriends that he was leaving on a mission. What he didn't know, was that Marche had now fumbled twice with grimoires of unimaginable power and both times they had thrown him into some escapist dreamlands and that he was mistaken for a famous fugitive five minutes after arriving in this world. Truly, Marche felt like some divine being was toying with him and he didn't want to be reminded of it every time he talked to his employer.

"Hmph. Help is appreciated, even if not needed. I take it you have some information about the messengers whereabouts in the city?" Marche waved at the mercenaries who had distanced themselves from the discussion to join in. No reason to keep the information about their target secret. Also, even though he couldn't see it, it would make the Masked man frown. Guy was a noble after all, so he was raised to look down on the commoners.

"Yes. They have booked rooms from the fanciest hotel in town, called the Goddess's Temple, while waiting for their ship to leave the day after tomorrow. The place is a former castle redesigned as a hotel for wealthy travelers. And by wealthy, I mean the most disgustingly rich nobles on the top of the ladder. Place is as decorated as the royal palace in Tristain and has a small army of commoners as the staff." The Masked man explained. Marche wasn't sure if the man had something against the owner –noble no doubt– showing off his wealth or if he tried to provoke Marche and the mercenaries, but he shrugged it off as irrelevant. What mattered was that the place was a castle, repurposed, but still a castle. Bum rush would be a stupid decision, even if there were no professional soldiers patrolling the walls.

"What kind of security does the place have? Some bouncers at the gates and a small guard to keep the quests and their money safe? " Marche asked.

"Something like that, yes. But they can be bought off. Speaking of which, we should hire more mercenaries. There are plenty of them around, most fresh off from Albion." The Masked man proposed. Marche glanced at his employees, who didn't look too happy with the idea of more mercenaries to share the loot with. Not that Marche had planned to let them loot the place. He had nothing against little spoils of war; in fact he had planned to take the swordsman's magic sword as a prize himself. But the point was that the hotel was not their enemy, it was their battlefield. Bad enough that they will wreck the place with their fighting, Marche didn't want to rob them blind too, although owner of this hotel apparently had more than enough money…

"I don't think that's necessary. With you, there's a good dozen of us. With a good plan, we can take them." Marche said, a plan already formulating in his mind.

"Really? Remember that there are five mages, three of which have already bested you twice and one of them is a square class mage knight captain. Not to mention the swordsman who has proven to be capable of subduing a mage by himself. You think ten mercenaries and two mages can handle them?" The Masked Man asked, his voice sounding a bit indignant to Marche's ears. As if dismissing their combat ability was an insult to him.

"With a good plan, yes. True, I've fought most of them twice, but both times I was winning until their reinforcements attacked me from behind. Also, since I have experience fighting them, I know their capabilities, while I'm sure they don't know all my tricks yet. Only Wardes and the blue haired midget are real trouble. The redhead is too emotional, she makes mistakes when others are in trouble. The swordsman has only notable speed and strength, his skill is nothing special. The other man I did not see fighting, but he appeared green as grass. He'll probably panic once a real attack starts. The pink haired girl has firepower, but no aim or experience." Marche listed what he had learned from his fights.

"Hmph. They are still mages. One big spell and we're down." The Masked Man said firmly.

"Yes. But only two of them can hold their own in a melee. If we fight them inside the castle, we can not only restrict their usage of big spells, but force them into a close combat." Marche explained with equally firm voice. The mercenaries were deep in thought, no doubt calculating their chances of survival.

"Also, if there are too many of us, we'll just get into each other's way when we fight." Marche added and glanced at the mercenaries. If he had them on his side, the Masked Man would accept his plan easier.

"You are correct about that. But I still think that we should at least another dozen of soldiers, just in case." The Masked Man decided to compromise. Marche was about to decline, but one of the older mercenaries stepped forward.

"That's good. I think Boss here thinks too highly of us. Sure we are competent soldiers, but it takes incredible skill for a swordsman to defeat a mage, even with the advantages he's planned." The mercenary's voice was rough, but full of experience. He wore a standard chain mail as did all the other mercs, but his upper arm had a red cloth tied around it, probably proof of some sort of rank in his mercenary band. His face was covered by bushy brown facial hair eyebrows included and there were many scars jutting out of the hairy mass.

"Okay then. I have more experience in leading smaller groups, but let's do it like that then." Marche admitted. It was true that he might be overestimating his mercenaries' abilities, since he had only seen one Halkeginian swordsman in action and that one had a magic sword enchanting his ability.

"Good. Since we have that thought out for now, I'll head over to La Rochelle for now. I'll meet you in the market square near the hotel at tomorrow evening. That should be long enough for you to hire more help." The Masked Man said and gave Marche a medium sized pouch of heavy coins. _Haven't they invented bills in here? I swear if the nobility had no magic to intimidate others to submission, they could maim the commoners with their wallets!_ Marche thought as he hanged the heavy pouch on his belt. He then waved his arm to the man as a goodbye when he mounted his griffin and took the skies.

"Okay, you heard the man. Pack the camp so we can leave. If you're fast, we'll probably reach the city after nightfall," Marche commanded the gathered mercs, but he then stopped the one who had spoken, "Wait. What's your name soldier?"

"Ah, I'm just a Wilhelm. I'm what you could consider a sergeant in an army," the man exclaimed and pointed towards his armband, "see? It's simple enough way to recognize us mercs. We had a captain too, but he was killed in Albion. I guess that should make me the captain now, but I'm not interested."

"I see. Well, since it seems we'll be accomplices for a while, you'll be my second-in-command for now." Marche decided and offered his hand to the old soldier.

"Sure thing Boss." Wilhelm said and shook his hand. He had a strong grip, Marche noted the obvious.

"Don't call me that. I have a name and that's–" Marche tried to say, but Wilhelm shook his head at that.

"With all due respect –or lack of it Boss, I don't care. You see, when you live as long as I do in this business, you'll notice how people tend to die. No reason for me to get to know you that well, when you –or I– die in the next battle. You did good last battle, but we'll see how long you last. Or I for the matter, if all your battle plans are like that. You youngsters tend to overestimate yourselves and underestimate others." Wilhelm explained and shook his head and let go of Marche's hand, before walking away.

"I see. A bit pessimistic that, don't you think?" Marche said to his back, not getting an answer.

**The next day, port city La Rochelle**

"Boss! Wake up! Have information!" Marche was woken up from his slumber by a grumpy mercenary almost kicking down the shoddy door to Marche's rented room. Groggily Marche stood up from his bed and stretched a little to loosen up. His evening had stretched a bit too late for his tastes, after his company had run into some old friends at a bar and then insisted that Marche would hire them there and then. Haggling with drunken mercenaries wasn't the best thing to do before trying to sleep and Marche had found himself rolling in his bed trying to calm down an hour after he and the mercenary leader had managed to agree with the price of their services. _Can't things go my way every once in a while? _Marche groaned to himself as he got up from his bed.

"What? This better be good", Marche threw a glare at the man.

"Sorry Boss, but Wilhelm said you'd be interested in this", the mercenary answered a bit sheepishly and hurried to explain, "you wanted us to report what the messengers party was up to, right? It seems they had some sort of internal strife during the night. That mage knight and the swordsman started dueling just before I left."

"What! Really?" Marche asked, his voice incredulous, "You sure they were dueling? Not just having a morning sparring session to keep their skills up?" Sure he had just asked for things to go his way for once, but this was suspicious as hell.

"Pretty sure, yeah. I mean, they even asked for the pink haired mage to be a witness for them. Didn't hear what they were dueling for, though", the mercenary elaborated. Marche frowned and massaged his temples, trying to puzzle together what was going on. _Maybe the swordsman was angry at Wardes for leaving the rest of the group to their own devices? But is that enough of a reason for him to question the elder man's leadership like that? Stupid Wilhelm, he should have gathered more information before sending someone to get me! _Marche thought angrily, but then took a deep breath to calm himself. _No. He did the right thing. I'm just being moody because I missed some sleep. Wilhelm's probably going to send a more detailed report after the duel,_ Marche reasoned to himself. For a few seconds he thought about going to see the duel himself, he might be able to see the finale if he hurried, but then dismissed the idea because he might be recognized. He had after all fought the swordsman and his companions twice already at close quarters, no doubt his shoddy disguise wouldn't fool them for a second.

"You know what? I'm going back to sleep. Wilhelm's probably going to send somebody to report the conclusion of the duel. You stand guard there at my door and then let the guy report to me if the duel ends with death of a participant or if the group breaks because of the aftermath. Goodnight" Marche stated his case and went back to sleep. He wanted to be in top condition for the evening. While he had stated to the Masked man that he had lost against the swordsman's group only because of their reinforcements, they were still losses and that hurt his pride more than he wanted to admit. Thus far he had had such a trouble only with Llednar Twem and back then it was because of the guy's invincibility. These were just spoiled noble kids with no real battle experience! If Ritz –or worse, Doned– heard about this, he'd be teased forever! _Third times the charm Marche_, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

**Midnight, nearby the Goddess's Temple**

"Is everything ready? Are the guards taken care of?" Marche checked the night's setups from the fidgeting mercenaries. All seemed to be in order and the only thing stopping Marche from ordering his men to infiltrate the repurposed castle was, that his accomplice wasn't there. _Where is that man? Should I begin the attack without him?_ Marche pondered. The Masked man was practically his superior, seeing he was the one who hired and paid him. It would be insubordination if he went off without him after he had announced that he would join Marche in the next battle. _No such problems when I was the clan leader_, Marche thought idly before turning back to the matter at hand.

"Check the neighboring streets once more. You said the targets were having some sort of party, right? In that case we can still wait for some time. With luck, they'll party themselves out", Marche ordered the men and threw a glance at the hotel. One of the rooms that were informed to Marche as being rented by the messenger's party had a silhouette at the window. Marche guessed it was the loser of the morning's duel, who was apparently sulking about the outcome of the duel. Marche found himself a bit miffed that the familiar swordsman had lost, though he reasoned that it was because the duel was not as severe as he would have wished. Both duelists were still more or less capable of combat tonight. _Well, at least I get to finish my fight with him and those two girls_, Marche thought and rested his hands on his weapons handles, _third times the charm, right?_

"Boss!" Marche was roused from his thoughts by some mercenaries arriving with the Masked man.

"Finally! What took you so long?" Marche snapped at the man the moment he came close.

"Good evening to you too, Fouquet. I had some business to conduct… Nothing that should inconvenience tonight's battle, I assure you", the Masked man shrugged.

"Don't call me that. Anyway, shall we begin then?" Marche stretched his arms a bit in preparation.

"Yes, let's begin", the Masked man said and drew a black wand from his belt, but Marche caught his hand.

"Not now. If we burst in waving wands, they'll be on guard the moment they see us. Nobody pulls weapons until we are as close to them as possible. Remember that we have the edge in melee", Marche explained, noticing how his magic sense buzzed with the touch. _Is he under some sort of enchantment or is it just the clothes?_ Marche thought idly. He himself was currently buffed up with both of his combat enchantments, it would only make sense that the other mage would do something similar.

"Hmm. Pretending to be late travelers? It could work. But let the soldiers go in first. You would be recognized the moment you step inside. Or did you already forget that rather sizeable bounty you have on your head?" The Masked man asked and Marche shook his head.

"Ah, I'm not going in from the front. You will go in from the front. I will take few men with me and circle in around the back. Cut off their escape route, you know?" Marche explained, emphasizing his point by drawing a circle in the air with his free hand.

"I'm afraid that will not do Fouquet. Remember that our employer's plans require that the messenger reaches the prince. Your job is to take care of the escorts. If we can push them to a corner here, they will probably split their group, leaving most of the escorts to fight, while the Messenger makes her way to the docks. I will strike when she lower her guard, thinking she's safe when boarding her ship", the Masked man reminded Marche, who felt a little embarrassed bout forgetting his mission. _It's because I'm essentially playing a decoy here, didn't actually do that in Ivalice,_ Marche reasoned_, I'm used to being the one who has to do the important part._

"Oh, forgot that. Sure, go ahead", Marche let go of the man's wrist and watched him disappear into the shadows. He then turned to his men and commanded them to move, positioning himself in the middle of the group and hiding his hair under the cloaks hood, so that he wouldn't be recognized so easily.

**The Goddess's temple**

The words "epic fail" echoed in Marche's mind as he evaded a flying spike of ice by a hairs breadth and dived behind an upturned table. He knew it wouldn't stop bigger spells, but it obscured his movements from the enemies while he assessed the situation. The knight captain had recognized him almost immediately and before Marche or his men could get even halfway across the room, they were bombarded with wind, fire and ice. Quick glance around the table revealed that the enemies had too taken cover behind a table and Marche buried all thoughts about getting close to the enemy mages when two metal constructs shimmered into existence before the cover.

"Get back and use your bows!" Marche ordered his men and spun the Terre rod in his right hand, "I'll cover you, **Blizzard**!" Icy blue energy flashed before the rod and as Marche pointed it towards the closing female shaped constructs, a large ice spike appeared and launched itself towards the farther one, impaling it brutally through the chest. He then leaped out of his cover and sliced the remaining one in half with the Manganese saber, crouching immediately when his saber met no more resistance and rolling to the side, evading an angrily crackling fireball. Marche recovered from his roll and countered with a **Fire** of his own, sending the noticeably smaller fire orb straight at the overturned table that his enemies were using as a shield much like Marche too had a second ago.

Getting their cover set ablaze seemed to cause a brief panic amongst some of the enemy mages as their bombardment stopped for a moment to put out the flames, allowing Marche to take cover again. It also allowed the mercenaries to take positions with their crossbows and the next attempt to throw a spell at Marche was answered with a hail of bolts, locking the battle in a stalemate. Neither side could advance without the other one opening fire.

_Let's see them handle this_, Marche thought as he crouched behind his own cover, yet another upturned table, and prepared one of his more unique Blue magic spells. In a flash of light Marche conjured a mass of yellow gelatinous substance, which he then propelled in an arch to land behind the scorched table the enemies were using as their shield. **Acid **was not appropriately named nor very destructive spell since it couldn't dissolve living material or any material at all. The gelatin merely seeped into clothing and other objects, covering them in a rubber like membrane which while not really movement impending, made most weapons useless until they were either cleansed or the membrane dried and fell off. Also it tended to freak out the more sheltered type of girls; it was, after all, weaponized Flan drool. Girls here did not know that bit of trivia, but the feminine shrieks that followed the dull splat of the projectile hitting the ground, told Marche that his attack was successful. Marche smirked as he peered around his table and saw the Messengers cover covered in yellow jelly. One of the mages actually jumped up and tried to clumsily brush the jelly off of his clothes, but his companions pulled him down, before he was turned into a pincushion.

Marche's joy was short lived, however, when a sudden blast of wind threw his cover, him and all airborne bolts into the air. During his brief fly, Marche saw the Messengers group split up, with the pink (now decidedly more yellowish) haired runeseeker escape towards the kitchen along with the knight captain and the swordsman. _Leaving no melee support? Oh right, one of them can summon golems better prioritize him_, Marche thought and sought out the male mage with his gaze, just in time to see that the formerly red haired mage had taken advantage of the wind barrier and started to chant for a spell. What little Marche remembered about this world's mages screamed at him that long chants equaled more power, so he should stop the chat as soon as possible.

Unfortunately Marche's landing was anything but gentle and when he got back on his feet, the fire mage was already waving her wand as the chant neared its finale. Marche knew he was too late to stop the spell, but he still sprinted towards the mage, trusting in his boosted abilities to see him through.

The spell, a lance of flames, burst forth from the mages wand and tried to impale Marche, but thanks to his enchanted performace he managed to barely dodge it, but thanks to his **Mighty Guard **it didn't really damage him. The fire mage seemed surprised that Marche could dodge the spell and he was all too well prepared to deliver a crippling blow to her with his dragonbone rod, when a blue blur suddenly flew -Marche saw it literally did- onto his path and redirected his overhead strike to the ground, crushing the floorboards as if they had the same sturdyness as a potato chip.

Marche did not care though, he had already focused his attention to the new threat. Last time a blue blur had surprised him, it had turned out to be his ex-crippled little brother Doned. It had not been very pleasant or even friendly meeting. This time the blur turned out to be a girl. In fact, it appeared to be the diminutive beastmaster-ice mage that Marche had faced a few times before. Except this time she had apparently chosen a new class. She had donned a highly artistic, but still surprisingly functional bronze mail, topped with arm and legguards. The hand that did not hold the staff, was holding a simple shortsword, that appeared to have some small ornaments on the blade and handguard. Unlike most of the mages that Marche had met, she held the shortsword as if she had prior experience with such a weapon. It was intriguing, since Marche had found out that most nobles abhorred martial weapons as commoners tools. Only elite knights trained in both, even then they usually focused on magic. _This will be interesting_, Marche thought as the girl charged at him with unnatural speed.


	5. Chapter 5: Duel boss

Author's notes: Hello again! Here's chapter 5, fresh out the oven. It's about 500 words longer than usual (hard to say because of these notes). To be honest the ending feels a bit rushed, but well I was in a kind of a hurry. Had I not finished it today, it would have taken me a week to get back onto computer long enough to end it. Well, this is the best I can do now, so that should be enough. Oh, and I got another oneshot idea! I'll probably write it down next. Let's see if I can do it better than the Swordfish knight... Well, we'll see we'll see.

Now, reviews! From chapter three first (those that I did not send a PM, I think):

omegarulesall and Zeroeye: Thanks! Glad to be appreciated!

DarkAap: That's just what I was aiming for, good to know I succeeded.

Onmur: As I declared in the last chapter, this'll follow canon more or less for some length. There will be original events in the future though, actually probably as soon as the next chapter!

dan heron: Thank you for pointing that out, corrected it immediately back then.

ToAruKagaguNoPersona: Thank you. I do that sometimes too, but not in English since it's not my first language.

Chapter four:

Mr. Anonymous reader: Good to know someone likes it. I was bit unsure about those bits, that they were unnecessary and I was trying too hard to be funny. Thank you!

BlueMirage: Glad to be appreciated.

Fenrir034: Thank you, really motivating to know someone as enthusiastic as you reads my story.

Menooshuh: Yeah, I'm sad I can't write too. The longer I go without writing, the more ideas I get. The more ideas I get, the more I want to write. Too bad I can't focus on what I get those ideas for, so there will probably put up a few oneshots with varying qualities this autumn. And every oneshot will probably delay chapter for this story a little.

ToAruKagakuNoPersona: Yeah, guess who's my favorite Familiar of Zero character? I do hope I made an adequate action scene for this chapter.

Hmm? Was that all already? Well, my thanks for reading!

Please, motivate me to write faster by reviewing!

End notes.

_Thinking_,

"Speaking"

**Spells, or setting**

_**Flashback**_

=Change in POV=

Disclaimer: I own nothing

**Chapter 5**

**Duel boss**

**The Goddess's temple**

In the back of his mind Marche could hear a little voice telling him that there was something wrong with this picture. Here he was, a badass warrior mage with the blood of dragons, vampires and guardian spirits of entire races on his hands. Hell, he had even destroyed a world! His equipment was top-notch, made to fight against the most horrible of monsters! The enemy currently in front of him was a young girl, little more than half his size. She was dual wielding a staff too long for her and a bronze short sword. Her armor was the local school uniform, reinforced with bronze mail that was more of an art piece than something one wore for battle, especially when the opponents sword was made from superior metal alloy.

Yeah, Marche felt a bit like a bully at the moment. It was different when the girl was riding a dragon and taking potshots at him with ice spikes. It was different when she double teamed him with miss pyromaniac and tried to flash freeze him from behind.

But like an experienced warrior he was, Marche crushed that little voice. He knew from experience that looks could be deceiving. Small and cute did not equal harmless after all. Briefly Marche shuddered at the memory of seeing moogle gut a firewyrm with, of all things, a pair of castanets.

Marche's momentary lack of focus proved to be a mistake as his still mostly blue haired opponent (at the back of his mind Marche noticed there was almost no yellow goop on her. How did she dodge his surprise spell? Meatshield?) decided to seize the initiative and stabbed her staffs pointy end viciously towards Marche's eyes.

Marche dodged by swaying to the left and jabbing the Terre rod at her stomach, hoping to knock the breath out of her. The girl however surprised him by jumping closer to him, stopping the rod from getting enough momentum to damage her and completely nullifying the attack by redirecting the blow away with her sword. Marche then calmly sealed her sword arm by wrapping his arm around her, trapping the sword arm in an awkward position between his arm and her stomach.

As they stood there side by side, with Marche's arm around the shorter girl who still had her arm extended over his shoulder after the failed stab, Marche knew he had won. The girls sword arm was trapped and the other was overextended, not to mention that the crooked staff was more of a hindrance at such a close distance. Smirking triumphantly, Marche switched his hold on the saber, holding it blade down like a knife and then rammed it between the girls shoulder blades.

Then he felt a tug at the back of his neck and the world spun. Well, spun as much as it could before Marche hit the ground face first. Thanks to the **Mighty Guard** he didn't take damage, but he was still shocked. His arrogance had made him underestimate his opponent, so while he took his time to adjust a more comfortable grip, she had just hooked her staff behind his head and pulled, probably with the help of some sort of strength enchanting magic, making Marche loose his balance and let go of her. Marche just had to give the girl a little praise for her combat ability, not many warriors he knew would have thought of such a maneuver. Then again, violent death was not very high on people's things-to-care-about list back there. With no real fear of death, except in Jagds, people tended to be a bit more lax in do-or-die situations. But here a cornered foe fought more ferociously, which unnerved Marche a little. Maybe the sea was larger than he thought.

But these were thoughts for another time. Marche rolled away frantically, trying to evade an attack he knew was coming. An enemy lying on the ground, stunned, was a seriously tempting target. And she did not disappoint. Marche had barely gotten away, when the first ice spikes impaled the floorboards he had been lying on. Quickly Marche rose into a crouch and charged towards the girl, before she could erect any more ice barricades around her. Distance was the key here. As long as he and the girl were fighting at melee distance, their supporters would be no good because of the fear that they would hit their own ally. But now there was distance between the two. Worse, Marche was between the girl and her support with no cover, while the girl still had the flames and the smoke they produced to give at least minimal cover for her from the mercenaries eyes. If Marche could not get close to the girl, he would be caught in crossfire.

Conjured ice rained down on Marche, but he swatted the hastily made –it seems she had decided to go for quantity over quality this time- spikes away like flies with his dragon bone rod. Then he swung his saber horizontally at the girl, interrupting her casting by forcing her to parry with her sword.

From there, the fight seemed to have reached a stalemate. Marche spun like a dervish, swinging both his saber and rod at many angles, each swing connecting to another and throwing in a few leg sweeps every once in a while. Every attack thrown at him was batted away or blocked. The few small scratches he got were unable to pierce his coat, though at the moment the girl realized it, she started to aim at his head and joints. The girl herself was leaning heavily on her enchanted speed, evading blows like she was one of those annoying Viera fencers with their unnatural **Reflex** techinque, attacking mainly by stabbing with her staff and using the sword to deflect or redirect Marche's heavy blows. She didn't kick like Marche did, but a few times she did whisper a small chant and swing her staff, creating either a hail of small air projectiles to distract Marche, or a single spike that would impale him, high grade armor or no.

Had there been experts of weapons present, they would have been able to tell that neither of the fighters had really had training for their weapons of choice. They had no real forms to their movements or techniques to utilize. They were both fighting through sheer experience, what their bodies had learned was effective and what had saved their lives countless times in the past. Masters of the sword might have sneered at the crudeness of it all, but there was some grace born from practicality to it.

Marche grunted as he ducked under a thrust at his throat, trying to catch his opponents legs with a leg sweep at the same time. She just jumped over it. Marche continued the spinning motion as he put his leg back on the ground, swinging his saber up as he rose from the crouch. The move was evaded almost infuriatingly easily by the speedy girl, who countered almost instantly with a stab to Marche's throat, but Marche managed to divert the attack by hitting the staffs side with the elbow of his extended arm, move which was followed by a horizontal swing of the Terre rod that proved just as useful as the dozen combos before it.

_Our skills are too equal_, Marche thought, his respect for the blue haired girl ever growing, _wonder how she became this good?_ Another futile exchange that benefited neither of the combatants went by.

_If our skill with weapons can't decide this, then it's our magic that will_, Marche thought with a hint of disappointment. Clearly this girl was not someone who would be slowed down for long by **Matra Magic **and **Acid** would not hit an enemy this fast, so he'd have to use another spell, even though he had wanted to keep as much of his magic as secret as he could. Of course there was also the option to just slug it out with the girl until either one fainted from exhaustion, but that was not a possibility when both sides had reinforcements only kept at bay by their duel. If they exhausted themselves too thoroughly now, they'd be easy pickings later. _This might have gone on too long already_, Marche thought as his arms ached from the constants swinging of heavy weapons and his Onlyone got slick from sweat. Not that any of this showed on his face. More than likely his opponent was in the same situation too.

A flash of light interrupted the battle. The girl immediately took evasive maneuvers, no doubt remembering that those flashes heralded Marche's spells. But when a random elemental force failed to attack her, she slowed down a little and threw a cautious glance at Marche.

And she fell straight into his trap.

In Ivalice** Stare** was the signature spell of Ahrimankind monsters. It resembled hypnosis that worked through eye contact, truly a fitting spell to a monstrous race that looked like huge eyeballs with wings and clawed legs. While it did not force those who looked in his eyes to obey any one command he gave, it did leave them in a confusing trance. Strong willed individuals could overthrow the effects in seconds, but in a battle like this, a second's disorientation was all it took to lose one's life.

As Marche saw the girl's eyes became hazy, he lashed out with a kick to the girl's stomach, sending her sprawling to the ground on her back, trying to catch her breath. The feeling of bullying got stronger as Marche dashed next to her and lifted his foot over her.

"Good… fight", Marche panted his last respects to the skilled warrior in front of him, sounding far more exhausted than he thought he was, before stomping her.

Only to be foiled at the last second by a concentrated stream of fire that hit him on the side, sending him to the ground too, next to his intended victim.

It looked like the dark skinned fire mage had come to her friend's aid. And with the supreme control the locals had over their magic, she had used a spell that wouldn't harm her friend. Marche actually felt a pang of jealousy when he understood that. After all, he had no-one to look over him like that anymore.

Marche rolled over and pushed himself up, trying to get the enemy mages into his sights. He was hurt, but it was more because of the concussive power of the spell, not the flames. Once again his Judge coat and **Mighty Guard** had proven too strong for the flames, though a quick glance revealed a slightly scorched spot on his side.

Marche gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up. This was bad. Why weren't the mercenaries shooting? Sure, the wall of fire blocked most of their sight, but it should be quite clear that the duel was over and that they were free to shoot.

_Maybe something happened to them. Maybe the team that split doubled back and ambushed them from behind_, Marche thought as he dashed to cover behind a broken table, _this sure is different from Ivalice. _Marche quickly brushed some sweat off his face and peered at his opponents. The blue haired mage was back up already, all traces of **Stare **gone from her eyes.

_Maybe it's time for a tactical retreat_, Marche decided and pointed the Terre rod at the wall of fire that had cut him off from his reinforcements.

"**Blizzara**", Marche called the spells name and a large block of ice crashed onto the flames, starting to melt immediately, dousing some of the flames. Marche then threw a **Thunder** at the duo to cover his escape. The red haired fire mage yelled something, and Marche remembered that there was a third mage too and threw his head at his last known direction so fast that he gave himself a whiplash. The male mage with drying flan drool on his clothes was waving his wand –no that was a rose, not a wand- at him. Marche remembered him being an earth mage and braced himself for a rock spike from the ground or maybe a gravel blast.

What he got instead was a small torrent of rose petals. Marche wasn't sure if he would have liked Fullmetal Alchemist style seven-foot granite spikes instead. He had played enough games to know that flower petals were usually preludes for finishing moves. Marche really wasn't in a condition to take a hit from something like that.

Definitely time for a tactical retreat.

Marche leaped over the flames, using the ice block as a stepping stone and just as he landed behind the flames, he felt a surge of magic and reflexively hit the dirt in hopes that the finisher would go over him.

To his surprise, he didn't hear anything that he could connect to a finishing move. No howling thunder, no cracking flames or wailing earth. He didn't get the feeling of the whole world stopping to stare in awe at the next move like it was in Ivalice when he initiated a Combo. But what he did feel was a sudden increase in weight. _Local equivalent of gravity magic like __**Demi**__? _Marche thought and slowly pushed himself up. _No, it's not so much of an increase in weight, but more like my entire body got stiffer. It's hard to move_, Marche corrected himself as he finally got to a standing position. Then a reflection of light at his sleeve caught his attention, causing him to check his coat.

_Since when did my Judge coat have armor plates?_ Marche thought and inspected closer. _No, these are not armor plates… Just normal bronze plates attached to my armor. They're the reason why I feel so stiff!_ Marche realized, _but when were they… Of course! Those petals from before!_ _Transfiguration is a basic skill for earth mages here! _Marche tried to pry one of the plates off, but it was firmly attached to his clothes folds and around his arms. He'd have to rip his coat to get them off fast.

Marche got a cruel awakening to the reality of the battlefield when a sudden punch to his face sent him crashing onto a wall. _By Famfrits sweaty socks, what is it this time? _Marche swore in his mind as he clumsily got onto his knees, his head ringing from the hit. A trickle of blood flowed from his temple.

"Are the robots trying to conquer the world or something?" Marche mumbled as he saw his assailants. There were two of them and they looked like beautiful women, except that they were made of bronze. Their bodies had some gashes here and there, one of them actually had a crossbow bolt sticking out of its head. _No, I remember seeing these before at the roadside battle. Golems, one of the signature spells for earth mages_, Marche thought rationally, before focusing on the signs of battle around him, _guess this explains what happened to my reinforcements? While I was dueling, the earth mage sent his golems to take care of them. Flames don't bother metal constructs too much, so they could just march over the flames and take them by surprise._

Marche sighed and stood upright, his gaze on the ground. He knew that the enemy mages were approaching too. Probably with more golems. They thought they had won. He was alone, he was hurt and he was physically exhausted. No way could he use his magic effectively now. That would be true for a normal mage. But Marche was not 'normal' mage. His magic was molded after game mechanics. That meant that no matter his physical condition, his magic would stay as strong as ever. Even if he were on his last leg, even if he lost all his limbs, he could use his magic as if he was in perfect condition. It was time for Marche to screw the 'keep my powers secret' plan and show what he really could do. He was, after all, a magic user first and foremost. Even in Ivalice, where he got the physical ability he had always wanted, he decided to become a mage instead of a warrior. It just suited him better.

"Hey, you blue haired girl", Marche said with a raspy voice. He hadn't even noticed how dry his throat was, but it fit nicely into his plans. Finally something went his way. He then raised his gaze just a little, so that he could glare his opponents from under his bangs. He saw them. The three mages, with their wands or staffs pointed at him. Alongside them stood three new golems holding spears. The male earth mage looked triumphant, no doubt imagining the glory and fame he would get from this fight. The fire mage looked pissed at him. Well he did kick her friend quite hard, not to mention the whole 'duel to the death' thing that lead into it. But the blue haired mages face looked as stoic as ever. Marche realized that he didn't remember seeing any emotion on her face for the whole battle. Her eyes however had a hard glint of steel on them. She knew Marche wasn't out yet.

"I remember that green haired woman introducing you back in the forest, but I'm afraid I forgot your names already. So, would you introduce yourselves before we finish this?" Marche propositioned with a smirk copied from Marche's nemesis Llednar Twem himself. Guy was scary as hell, just what Marche wanted to channel right now.

"Hmph! Very well criminal! Know that you were defeated by the might of the fourth son of general Gramont! Guiche de Gramont! Remember it when you are thrown in cell and wait for your trial!" the blonde earth mage declared. _Is he posing?_ Marche thought. Were this a manga, he was sure he would be sweatdropping at the man's antics.

"Even if you are a despicable example, how could a man forget me? I am Kirche Augusta Frederica Von Anhalt Zerbst. And know that for hurting Tabitha, you will burn", the red headed fire mage promised with a glare. But Marche had been glared by much more frightening persons before, so he just brushed it off. Though he did note what a mouthful that name was. But these two persons didn't really interest Marche. He focused his gaze at the one he blamed most of his situation. The blue haired ice mage.

"…Tabitha", the diminutive girl whispered, her gaze not wavering from Marche. _Hmm? No last name?_ Marche thought idly, but committed the name to his memory anyway.

"Hmm… Quite a colorful bunch you are. Well then, miss Tabitha, miss Kirche and mister Guiche, today I have lost the battle, but won the war", Marche said and raised his head, twisting his lips into what he hoped was maniacal smile. The image he wanted to give called for it. He wanted to mess with their heads. Make them think he was even more dangerous than he really was. And even if the grin wouldn't play out he had just the ability to generate fear in his enemies. Then he looked Tabitha, for she was the most dangerous enemy here, straight into the light blue, almost grey eyes and declared:

"So, let me salute your prowess by taking off the kid gloves for a second."

=Kirche's POV=

Kirche knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the bloodthirsty but arrogant smile or piercing glare, but Fouquet was giving completely different feel than moments ago. Tabitha had noticed it first, or perhaps she had known it for the whole battle? Kirche had trouble reading her best friend normally, so in a battle like this, she was a completely shut book for her. But Kirche could still read Tabitha's actions a little. If Tabitha thought it was still prudent to keep your guard up against Fouquet, then she would too. Although Kirche found her wariness lessen when she saw that the thief could barely stand up straight. No way could he still use magic effectively in that state, right? Even if he had resisted the flames again, the blunt force behind her **Flame Stream **was almost comparable to a **Wind Hammer **spell and Fouquet had taken that attack cleanly. And that was before he was pummeled by Guiche's golem. Not to mention the heated melee he had had with Tabitha before. _Honestly that was probably the biggest shock tonight_, Kirche thought as Guiche gave his pompous introduction, _I didn't know Tabitha was that good at close range. She sure has earned her title of Chevalier. But why would she have learned something like that?_

Kirche still gave her introduction with her usual flair. Tabitha would tell her later, if she wanted. It wasn't Kirche's job to pry into her past against her will. Now she was better off focusing on Fouquet. She was planning something, she almost said it himself. 'Before we finish this' he had said. He definitely had something planned. But what could it possibly be? Guiche's golems had been surprisingly effective in dispersing the mercenaries, probably because there had been surprisingly few of them.

But why were there so few of them? He had clearly planned this attack, so why did he take so few reinforcements? Why didn't he prepare a golem beforehand, like when he broke into the academy? Was he really so sure he could take the six of them with only a handful of help? Sure, he could do spells of all elements seemingly effortlessly, but surely he knew that he would be overpowered by sheer numbers? Kirche felt an unpleasant shiver wash over her as he watched Fouquet raise his head, revealing his bloodstained face and a maniacal grin. _This man is insane!_ Kirche thought until the words reached her ears.

"So, let me salute your prowess by taking off the kid gloves for a second."

Tabitha, as always was the first to react. Kirche didn't even hear her chant the spell, when an ice spike was already flying towards Fouquet. Not even a second later had Kirche prepared a fireball. Both spells smashed onto Fouquet's still grinning form. Spike right to the heart, fireball exploded to the chest. No way could he survive, right? He didn't have time to pull off a spell, and that was further proved by the lack of usual flashes he had when he casted spells.

But if no-one could survive that, then why was Fouquet still standing when the flames receded? Why did he look like there never was a spike impaling his heart or fireball exploding on him?

It looked like Guiche had finally caught on and with a wave of his wand, he sent the bronze golems at Fouquet. He just smiled that scary smile of his and raised his mace-wand, saying one word before a blue light flashed.

"**Blizzaga**."

Kirche felt a tug at her back when Tabitha pulled her and Guiche to safety. Then a huge wall of ice sprung into existence. It broke the walls and the roof of the hall as it expanded from nothing, either imprisoning or slicing apart the closing golems as it grew larger, sprouting sharp blades of ice in every direction. _That is at least a square class spell!_ Kirche thought in amazement. It was one thing to see him use different spells from all four elements, but it was totally different to see him blast a spell that was clearly the highest ranking spell there is. _And wasn't his main element earth? Ice spells are combinations of wind and water! This makes no sense!_ Kirche screamed mentally, _did he play with us? Why didn't he just level this place at the start?_

"Not in the plan", Kirche herd Tabitha whisper next to her.

"Plan? What do you mean Tabitha?" Kirche turned to her silent friend, who was peering into the wall of ice.

"Lost battle, but won war. Didn't plan on killing us", Tabitha explained with as few words as possible. While it would irritate the most, Kirche had grown accustomed to it long ago already.

"You mean he wasn't here for revenge? Then why…" Kirche thought, but Tabitha cut her off.

"Split the group", the ice mage said flatly and looked at the only male present.

"Oh no! The mission for her Majesty!" Guiche shrieked and slapped his forehead.

"Another ambush", Tabitha said flatly.

"We have to get to them! Tabitha, could Sylphid…"

**Streets of La Rochelle**

=Marche's POV=

_Well, at least the escape plan worked_, Marche thought as he ran away from the now devastated hotel. He did not want to be there when the city guard came to ask questions. It was actually a miracle they hadn't come already. Maybe the Masked man had bribed them off too? He would ask that later. Now he had to get to the meeting spot and pry off the metal plates. They were a hindrance.

The escape plan, or plan C as he called it (standard procedure was that plan A was made beforehand, plan B on the spot when A failed and plan C was always the Escape plan) had worked perfectly. Even if Kirche did melt her way through the glacier **Blizzaga **created, they would be too scared to follow him. After all, he was insane and he took their last spells without a scratch. **DamageMP **was such a useful ability when you had to be invincible. It didn't really make one invincible, but the effect was really similar. Especially if the opponent couldn't see what exactly happened when one used the ability. It was quite simple actually. When the spells got close enough, Marche just poured out his MP at them, creating a barrier of sorts which then absorbed all the damage, leaving him unscratched. As long as he had MP it would work. And with the rate he regenerated MP, he could always use it to take the brunt of all attacks. Well, if he didn't want to use his magic anyway. It was really draining on the long run.

After about 15 minutes of navigating the empty streets of La Rochelle, Marche finally made it to the empty warehouse he had designated as the meeting place with the Masked man and the mercenaries. Some of the mercenaries were there already. They greeted Marche sheepishly and Marche glared at them angrily. They could have informed him they were planning to retreat. He decided to instead order them to help him remove the bronze plates from his coat. He could punish them for real later. Now, he just wanted the heavy thing off of him.

It was a bit of a struggle, but after about an hour of work the coat and pants came off with no unrepairable damage to the clothes, which pleased Marche immensely. It would be so hard to get replacements here. When the clothes had nothing in them, the soft plates were easily removed and soon Marche got his gear back in optimal capacity. Like that he then settled down to wait for his emplyer. It would be long until he would realize that his employer would not be back.


	6. Chapter 6: Restart

Author's notes: Hello again dear readers! Got to say, I was stumped about last chapters popularity. I knew it was good and that I asked for reviews, but 16 reviews was still a surprise, not to mention all the favorites and alerts. I actually got a little scared that i wouldn't be able to keep up a high enough quality for this popularity and begun searching for an active beta who could check the next chapters, and last week I was just about to PM one, but real life interfered. Again. I'll try to send that PM next week. Until then, bear with all the mistakes I make, thank you.

Now then, reviews! This'll be a long one, so I'll answer only the ones with something to answer. To everyone else, thank you very much for reviewing! Especially Cheeki Really motivating! And another special thanks for Shintouyu for recommending my story in his Author's notes in Zero's Noble Overlord!

darkowl1989: I actually have plans for that already, but unfortunately it's still quite far away. Be patient, I don't plan to let you down.

Prinny Ramza: I'm glad you like. As for his skills, Marche here is based on the Marche I had when I last finished Tactics Advance. This also means that I've tried to keep Marche's abilities within canon limits, so no Time Magic for the human. I might add abilities if the story needs it, but I'll try to keep Marche's abilities in check. I don't want to make him too overpowered.

**Black Mage**

Fire, Fira

Blizzard, Blizzara, Blizzaga

Thunder, Thundara, Thundaga

Return Magic

**White Mage**

Cura

Esuna

Shell

Protect

Turbo-MP

**Blue Mage**

Goblin Punch

Magic Hammer

Acid

Blowup

Mighty Guard

Dragon Force

Guard-off

Night

Twister

(LV3) Def-less

Matra Magic

Poison Claw

Hastebreak

Bad Breath

Stare

Roulette

Drain Touch

(LV?) S-Flare or Shadowflare

White Wind

Angel Whisper

Sandstorm (not really a spell a Blue Mage learns, but the plot needed it)

DamageMP

Learning

Blue Combo

**Illusionist**

Prominence

Freezeblink

Tempest

Deluge

Wild Tornado

Soil Evidence

Star Cross

Stardust Rain

**Thief**

Steal: Accessory

Steal: Gil

Counter

**Ninja**

Throw

Earth Veil

Wood Veil

Unspell

Double Sword

Last Haste

**Archer**

Take Aim

Faster

Concentration

**Hunter**

Ultima Shot

Advice

End list.

Fanfiction reade: Good guess, but wrong one. Next I'm actually planning for some original content. There will probably be familiar characters though, I'm terrible with OC's.

Poliamida: Sorry, it takes. Probably the next one too.

Nivek Beldo: Tactics Advance has some really good music for the atmosphere. I've listened them more than a few times while writing this. And sorry if the ending was a bit rushed. It was deliberate, I'm afraid. You see, if Saito were genre savvy, or at least thought of Halkeginia as a game, he would connect Marche as the recurring boss. The one that you beat in a fight, but returns stronger than ever. Look it up in TV tropes. As for my favorite character in FoZ, it's actually Tabitha. I like Kirche too, but she's just not my type. But she's very useful character to have when I need another angle for the scenes. I'll probably use other characters for that in the future, but Kirche's going to keep that role in the future.

acap88: Well, Marche's evilness is a bit debatable. Good thing you like the story though!

Guest: Wardes will get his ass kicked, don't worry. It'll just take some time.

End notes.

**Chapter 6**

**Restart**

**Abandoned warehouse, La Rochelle**

Marche let out a long sigh as he sat down heavily. He had been trudging around the warehouse for the last hour, bored out of his mind. The soft metal plates that had meant to immobilize him had been long since detached and thrown away. His wounds were easily healed with a **Cura **spell and after that, healing the mercenaries was a piece of cake with a **White Wind** spell. That particular spell had always struck Marche as an oddity. Sure, it was a healing spell, one that could under right conditions heal even more damage that a **Curaga**, but it had some very odd rules to it. Namely, its effectiveness reflected the casters physical condition. If Marche was at top condition physically, like after getting hit with few **Cure** spells, the **White Wind **healed the patients to top condition. If Marche was wounded, the spell lost power and not even **Turbo-MP **could change that fact.

"It seems our employer pulled a fast one on us, or he got killed chasing the messenger", Marche finally admitted and massaged his temples with his right hand. His left was hidden behind his back, ready to throw a spell to cover his escape in case things turned violent. People, especially those whose profession was violence, tended to get a bit aggressive when it came down to their payment. They had only gotten half in advance. Just like Marche. Difference was that Marche as a mage had substantially larger paycheck than your common mook. Also, he was the middle man between the mercenaries and the Masked man. So, it wouldn't be uncommon for the disappointed mercenaries to try and get their dues from him.

Emphasis on try. A Phantasm skill that was only a name away would make sure of that.

Luckily, before an uncomfortable silence could fully evolve, it was cut off by a commotion coming from the outside. It didn't take long for everyone inside to jump up and dash to the warehouse doors, pondering whether the commotion was the city watch coming to round them up or their elusive employer finally hauling his ass over. Marche hoped it was the last, although he felt it was a vain hope. Thus far, everything in this city had gone against him.

To Marche's relief, this commotion wasn't a prelude to another farce. _Well, hopefully not_, Marche thought as he observed how two of the guards, that had been posted (meaning, lost in rock-paper-scissors that Marche had taught to the mercenaries so they could quickly decide who had to take the boring job) around the warehouse to keep watch for authorities, manhandled a civilian into the warehouse.

A circle quickly surrounded the three and Marche, as the curious mercenaries wanted to know what was going on. Marche took this as a good sign, as then men still considered him as their leader, even when their paycheck had been compromised. Maybe this city wasn't a complete failure.

"What's this then?" Marche asked the guards, while eying the civilian with false disdain. He was dressed in a common enough attire for a dockworker. He had probably been skulking around the warehouse and the guards had caught him. He might have been there by coincidence, but Marche had decided to play it safe, meaning intimidating him until he either spilt the beans or proved he was there by coincidence. And Marche knew just the spells for intimidation. Illusions couldn't harm those the caster deemed friendly, after all. And if that failed, he could turn him into a toad with **Bad Breath** and if that did not break him, then nothing would. It had after all caused Marche himself to nearly piss his pants the first time he was hit with it. It might have had something to do with the hungry Malboro that had hit him with the spell to begin with. Marche really doubted he'd have to go that far to get the man's story, but he believed in being prepared.

"This one was sneaking around suspiciously, Fouquet sir. We thought you might want to have a look at him", explained one of the guards and shoved the man forward, almost throwing him to the ground.

"Really?" Marche cringed at the name, barely stopping himself from barking at the man to not call him that. _At this rate I'll never get rid of that stupid name_, Marche despaired mentally, while still taking a notice that the civilian's eyes widened a little with the information. _So he isn't here because of the battle at the hotel_, Marche mused. It was probably already public knowledge that "Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt" had attacked the hotel and everyone brave enough was probably looking for him, so they could inform the authorities and collect the sizeable bounty.

"Now, what would a simple man like you want from an empty warehouse at this hour?" Marche eyed the man carefully, hoping to catch more subtle messages from his body. The man swallowed nervously before speaking.

"Err… Mister Fouquet sir…" the man began cautiously, but when Marche's eye started to twitch at the name, he quickly continued, "I-I-I'm just a humble worker. I meant nothing really, was just taking a m-midnight stroll", the man explained, waving his arms nervously.

"Out for a stroll, eh? Why have a stroll here in the docks where all the… Shall we say, suspicious folk gather? Wouldn't there be more ideal places out there? Places where a worker like you doesn't go every morning?" Marche asked a bit smugly, laying a hand on the handle of the Terre rod, "quite suspicious, I would say. What about you guys?" The mercenaries made agreeing noises and Marche smiled at the sweating man.

"W-w-well, you see my wife… She, well, you know threw me out again a-a-and then I just started w-walking and before I knew…" the man tried again, but Marche just shook his head and turned to his men.

"Woman troubles, then?" Marche said and then spun around while drawing the Terre rod, pointing it at the man's chest, "As if! Last chance, you know. Next lie will be answered with a spell." The man paled considerably, while Marche focused on keeping his poker face. He really didn't have guts for any torture besides bluffing. He would cover the man in illusionary flames if he had to, but he wouldn't be able to make an unarmed man, who might have just been there on a whim of fate, feel them without feeling disgusted with himself. Why couldn't the man just break already?

The man swallowed hard and wiped sweat from his brow. Marche could almost feel the mental fight the man was having. Finally, the man took a deep breath and steadied himself.

" To tell the truth… I'm kind of, you know, making some money on the side. There's this man you see, he pays for information about ships. Like what their cargo is, what kind of passengers they have and when they leave. I, well I work near the harbormasters office and I can find these out easily. He pays me to send this information to him and, you see one ship left during the night and it was one that I'd been asked to keep my eye on, and, well", the man breathed in deeply, "my way to contact the guy is stashed here in this abandoned warehouse", the man explained calmly, before crumbling into a heap. Marche raised his brow at the show. _Was it that big of a deal?_ Marche wondered and stashed the Terre rod away.

"Hmph. I thought it was about us, well about me anyway. Can't say I'm all right with piracy, but I think I can let this one go, if we are talking about the same ship here. Sure, go ahead and send your message", Marche said and waved his hand dismissively, "we should get going anyway. As I said, our employer isn't coming."

As the mercenaries started to gather their belongings, Marche kept his gaze at the civilian, who seemed quite puzzled at Marche's reaction, but eventually he collected himself and stumbled to one of the corners of the warehouse. There, he pried off a floorboard and pulled out a large clay brick. Marche followed curiously as the man started to scribble on the stone, its surface unnaturally soft for something with such a solid shape.

"That's a Message Stone", somebody informed Marche, and he turned to see a mercenary with a scarred and hairy face. Marche remembered naming the guy his second-in-command before coming to La Rochelle, but he had forgotten his name. _Oh, come on. How did I forget my sergeant's name? I remembered Montblanc easily enough_, Marche cursed in his head at his bad name memory.

"Message Stone?" Marche asked the sergeant, while hoping he would remember the name soon.

"Something earth mages liked to make several years ago. It's basically a set of two or more bricks like that. You write something on one, it shows on the others. When others have read their stones, they wipe them clean and the text disappears. They have some range limitations, but they can be easily increased, by placing beacon stones between the two points. Bad thing is you don't know who is reading the stone, so usually people have all sort of passwords to go with those", the sergeant explained while checking his armors straps.

"Sound like handy little things", Marche nodded.

"Thing is boss, they're not really cheap. No small time pirate can't afford one, let alone two", the sergeant stated and looked at Marche knowingly.

"You mean we are dealing with a privateer?" Marche asked curiously.

"A what?" the sergeant asked and the stare turned into confusion.

"You don't know what a privateer is? Strange. Well, a privateer is like a government sanctioned pirate. They raid ships, but give a part of their loot to the government. They get some funding or such to get by first, so they would be able to get something unusual like these Message Stones", Marche explained, "question is, which government do they work for? Can't imagine Tristania having a pirate stalking their own ships… Gallia? Germania?"

"Albion has the best ships…" the sergeant, nope! Wilhelm, -or Wallace, Marche wasn't completely sure yet- said furrowing his brow.

"Albion? Hmm, what say you, shall we have some petty revenge?" Marche smirked at the old sergeant and walked to the man who was just finishing scribbling to the Stone.

"Hey, my good man! You finished yet? You see, I'll give you something special to report. Might give you a bonus reward or something", Marche smiled at the man and crouched next to him.

"You see, that ship left early because of us. We were paid to mess with some of the passengers. Make sure they don't leave the city, while somebody else takes their place. Well, we succeeded. Now there's someone on board the ship who shouldn't. Can you guess who this guy is? Well, not who, but what. No? Well, he is an assassin. I'm not telling you who he is hired to assassinate, but your friends might want to detain him. I'm sure his employers are ready to pay a great sum to see him finish his mission. But keep this info anonymous will you? If wrong people hear about this, well, let's say it'll be bad to us both", Marche grinned widely and nudged the man a little, before rising up and walking away, leaving a completely confused man behind him. Marche chuckled a bit at the man's expression as he walked to the warehouse doors, where the others were waiting for him.

"You sure that was wise, boss? If they hear you leaked their plans…" Wilhelm asked as Marche stepped into the morning air. Marche merely smiled a little and waved his hand dismissively.

"Well, they shouldn't have bailed on us", Marche defended his actions. He knew he was being petty, but things had been going wrong for so long that he had to get at least a little retribution at the people who complicated his life like this. Seriously, first they ask him for help, and then ditch him at the first opportunity. Like he had offended them or something.

"Well it's your own skin", the older man grumbled, before speaking out loud again, "what now then? You aren't our employer anymore, so you can't order us around. But to tell the truth, I wouldn't mind you tagging along for a while. Would be good for business too, to have a mage in to company. Would give us some more value on the market, so to speak."

"Interesting offer. I have worked as a mercenary before and I know what you mean. But still, I think I'll have to refuse for now. You see, I have some errands to run", Marche said and scratched the back of his head, "I don't suppose you all would like to join me?"

"Errands… Sorry no. I don't think we are suitable for your errands. We're soldiers. Not thieves", Wilhelm refused and sighed, "well, if you're sure you don't want to. It was nice while it lasted though. Got our asses kicked, but no-one really died. That's always a plus. See you around, maybe?"

"Absolutely. But hey, I'm not asking you to become thieves. It's just that I know I need warriors with-" Marche tried to persuade, but Wilhelm waved him off.

"It doesn't matter. You just keep doing what you've done until now. Keep doing what you're good at. See what happened when you tried to be a military commander? Nothing worked. Sure, you had good ideas and all, but you were too much of a lone wolf. You could react to the changes on the battlefield, but as a leader you should have given orders to your troops. Not charge forward alone. I can't really decide if you were suicidal or mad. Attacking alone is always a suicide, but you didn't even try to order us to come with you. Usually nobles command more than act, it's the way they've been raised. To command. You act like you've been at the receiving end of orders like us… commoners…" Wilhelm seemed to stop and think something, but Marche let it drop. He was too focused on the advice he had been given.

_True, I've been acting alone quite a lot here… At the forest I was alone at the cliff and now I charged to the enemy, leaving my backup behind… When did I become a solo player? In Ivalice, I was still a team player_, Marche wondered. _Did I get too arrogant? I looked down on the enemies, maybe I looked down on my allies too. Thought they wouldn't be able to keep up with me. They were, after all, just some nameless muscle-for-hire one could find anywhere, while I am, well, was a leader of a clan. And not just any clan, but the Alodia which could boast over 300 completed missions and had a turf that covered the whole country, basically ending the Clan Wars and severely hampering the operations of crime syndicates like clan Borzoi or the Redwings. It was under my leadership that the Alodia caught dangerous criminals like the "Swamp king" Kanan and "Dark Duke" Lodion. We fought and defeated the "Worldwyrm" Oghma. Famfrit, Ultima, Adrammelech, Exodus and Mateus, the five Totemas of the five races of Ivalice lost against us and I destroyed their charges, the World Threads. Llednar Tvem crumbled before me when our powers clashed. Li-grim the Wish Gatherer died fighting me. No-one here stood with me back then. No-one who stood with me exists anymore. Montblanc , Ezel Berbier, Littlevili, Lini, Pallanza, Eldena, Quin, Cheney and the others…_

Marche actually felt a tear make its way down his cheek when he reminisced about his old comrades. He knew they weren't real persons, merely ghosts created by ancient magic. Some of them might have had real life counterparts, like the bullies turned undead Lyle, Colin and Guinness. But Marche had not met anyone in Ivalice who resembled his old comrades. There was no-one as-intelligent-as-he-is-cheery guy, who would jump in on a fight to help a total stranger. There were no geniuses with huge egos, no rebellious little sisters with grand plans to show off at their older siblings, no starry-eyed namesakes of ancient heroes, no crowd playing master gladiators, no mysterious high-class witches hiding their smirks behind their hands, no responsible scientists with disturbing fondness for explosions and no cool and collected hunters. And no dozen other misfits with varying reasons to follow his lead. Or even believe his outlandish story.

_Gah! This is not the time for this_, Marche shook himself back to reality or whatever passed for one currently. To his embarrassment he noticed that all the mercenaries were staring at him spacing out.

"Oops, sorry. Just remembered something personal. You were saying…?" Marche asked Wilhelm to get out of the awkward situation.

"Oh, nothing big. Just that the noble folk tend to just command us to attack and then when everyone is distracted with the melee, they sweep the battlefield with big spells, barely paying attention to us mercenaries. Your style to charge in with the first wave is a bit… odd to say the least", Wilhelm explained a bit hastily.

"Oh, that's just a diehard habit of mine, from the time I lacked training in the magic usage", Marche explained, "to put a long story short, I began my training with magic at quite late age when I joined a cl-, I mean a mercenary group that had a mage in it. I wasn't a very fast learner, so I had to double as a swordsman until I learned magic." It was basically the truth, he just left few tidbits out. Like that he didn't even know magic existed until he and his friends rewrote reality to their personal utopia. Or that he had to get up close and personal with several monsters to learn half of his spells. _Stupid Learning, why did it have an effect only through contact? Wouldn't just seeing the move be enough?_ Marche fumed in his mind, remembering some of the more painful spells he had to learn, like certain-kill **Roulette** or the hurts-like-hell **Shadowflare**.

The mercenaries shared a few glances with each other and nodded at Marches explanation. Had Marche been keeping his attention in reality, he would have taken notice, but at the moment he was busy shuddering at the memory of what at the time had appeared to be a spontaneous combustion in dark flames.

"Ah well then. We'll just part ways now then. Not the worst employer we could have had, you know. Got at least half of the pay, and no-one really died", Wilhelm said jovially and slapped Marche's back, almost knocking him over, "Let's go for a drink next time we meet, eh?"

"We'll see, we'll see. I take it you're not leaving the city then?" Marche asked as he got his balance back. Mentally, he was berating himself for spacing out again. He had done that a lot lately. _Maybe having magic again is making me more nostalgic?_ Marche thought. He had many times wondered if destroying the world of Ivalice had been the right decision. He had had so much in there: magic, physical ability, many great friends and a purpose, a higher calling. The first few weeks after Ivalice had been a sort of lost daze for Marche as he had to adjust to losing most of them. He had got some of them back, but not quite at the level. He had physical ability, of course not as good as it had been in Ivalice. He had friends, but not as many as in Ivalice. He had even found a purpose, something to be when he grew up. But that had looked so bleak in comparison to the one he had in Ivalice. And there had been no magic, no matter how hard he had looked for it and wished for it in the later years. Marche had actually given up on finding anything supernatural again, but then this had happened.

"No reason for us. You're the only one people will recognize. We'll blend in with the dozen other mercenary companies here easily enough", Wilhelm explained.

"True," Marche sighed, "how I would prefer anonymity, but there's nothing I can do to that."

"Right you are. Goodbye", Wilhelm shook Marche's hand and walked away with his men, leaving Marche standing in the empty street.

Marche looked at their leaving with a faint sense of loss. While their relationship had been nothing like the one Marche had had with his clan, he still felt close to the men he had commanded in battle and he felt a bit betrayed that they didn't just follow him now. He shrugged it off as just another habit instilled in him back in Ivalice. _This isn't a kid's utopia like Ivalice. Got to remember that_, Marche thought and yawned. He had a long day ahead of him.

"Well, it's a new beginning for me", Marche said to himself and stretched his arms, before turning his gaze at the direction he remembered the city gates being. Thus far his adventure in Halkeginia had been a bit unsuccessful, but Marche didn't let that get him down. He had just underestimated everything up till now. Now he had a little experience. Next time, whatever it was, he would succeed.

_But first I need allies. Allies, equipment and information. The best place to get those would be the capital whatsitsname, _Marche thought as he began walking towards the gates. It would no doubt be a long walk to get to the capital, but it wasn't like Marche was in a hurry. Also, he had some money now, so he could buy a horse if situation called for it. He would ask around when he got to the gates. There would probably be stables around there.


	7. Chapter 7: Sidequest

**Author's notes**

Salutations! At long last, I have returned!

Not for lack of trying, mind you, I rewrote this particular chapter several times (had the first handwritten draft ready in March) and even the 6th chapter a few times, although I finally decided that that was unnecessary.

Also gave up, for the moment, about finding a beta reader, since after throwing several PM's around, it seemed that it would have only served to postpone this chapter even further. And then I realized that a year had passed without me updating. Sure, I had a legitimate excuse for about half of that time, but that only means that I lacked one for the other half.

Also, I'm afraid that the quality of my writing may have suffered during this year, but I can't really tell myself. If the style is too different from the old one, I just might have to rewrite the whole thing with a Beta keeping the quality in check. Might at least write this one again (just one more time) later, because the chapter is quite short, I feel I could have stretched the end a bit longer, but I wanted to get on with it already.

But I'm back now, so let's focus on the reviews and the chapter itself!

Thanks for all the support from the reviewers! Special thanks to 1000people who went as far as throwing me with a PM! Came very close to update a week after that, but stuff happened and my plans were ruined. My apologies for getting your hopes up, back then.

To Fenrir034: Yes, I've considered all those points. I might use them, I might not. Haven't really planned that far ahead.

To Guest: Yes he's had Return Magic, but he hasn't used it yet. I'll try to explain it later in detail, but for now, I'll just say that he had different reaction ability equipped. 

End notes.

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I own nothing.<p>

_Thinking_

"Speaking"

**Spells, or setting**

**Chapter 7**

**Sidequest**

_**Jagd Ahli**_

_The window broke loudly as Marche crashed through it into the dark dining hall. As he hit the ground he made somersault that brought him to the relative safety of the long and sturdy dining table. He was soon joined by a tall man in a dark green cape._

"_Heh, way to make a stealthy entrance, leader", Liam Morales grinned as a flash of light from the outside lit up the room momentarily. The tall man had been a member of the Alodia even before Marche joined and was an experienced thief, with a fondness for fighter techniques, especially __**Backdraft**__._

"_Shut it Liam. There is a time for subtlety and it ends when alchemists start to barrage __**Flare**__s and __**Meteor**__s", Marche said and headed for the door "we'll continue indoors. Eldena and Littlevili can take care of the alchemists." Marche heard Liam snort at his words._

"_Yeah, let the vieras have all the fun. Liam is only good for spying and distracting. He can't fight in a Jagd 'cause he's so suicidal", he muttered but still followed Marche to the door._

"_I'm not saying that", Marche told him and slowly opened the door, peering into the dark hallway behind._

"_But you're thinking it", Liam countered, while keeping his eyes on the shadows. _

"_Nope, I'm merely sticking to the plan", Marche reminded the tall man, "remember? We, as the most mobile members present, will go for the duke, with Littlevili and Eldena backing us up, while Lini and Pallanza lead the distraction. Although knowing those two, they'll just order Quin to blow up the gate and then fight their way here." _

"_Why couldn't I go with them then? I'm sure they would need someone to wreak havoc to the enemy archers. Cheney is good and all, but… he lacks punch. Sure, he can jam an arrow the size of a spear through enemy's eyes from a hundred meters, but it's so slow._ _I mean, come on! __**Sonic Boom**__ is like the trademark technique of hunters, but he never uses it. Battles aren't one-on-ones. He'll be overrun!" Liam whined, but Marche paid it no mind. Liam had a tendency to rant when he was excited._

"_Oh, and also -__**Air Render**__!" Liam suddenly cried, blasting an invisible shockwave to the shadows, loudly cracking the wall and causing one small shadow to jump spinning into the air. Before it hit the ground, Marche had already brought his hands forward and called the spell __**Bad Breath **__creating a small noxious gas cloud. The small figure –a moogle juggler- landed into the cloud and almost instantly started to sway as the detrimental gasses assaulted him (or her, Marche really couldn't tell) inflicting several conditions of varying levels. Luckily for Marche and Liam, one of them was sleep and they quickly tied him and hid the body, as Marche even as desensitized to killing as he had become in the presence of the Judges, wasn't too keen on the idea of killing a sleeping foe –at least in a Jagd. After that, they continued forward in silence so they wouldn't get distracted and miss any more guards._

_Soon Marche and Liam entered a hallway that was supposed to lead to the bedroom of their target, although at this point it would probably be impossible for the two to get their foe in his sleep. Might as well check the door for traps, Marche thought and the moment the ornamental doors that could only lead to a bedroom belonging to a rich bastard, he blasted them off their hinges with a __**Thunder**__. The moment the doors gave way before the yellow bolt, a wave of arctic air burst out of the doorway, almost making Marche loose his balance, but he managed to steady himself in a second. At the same time, a storm of snow and ice had devoured the hallway and the hailstorm was making it almost impossible for Marche to see even Liam, let alone the door he had just hit._

"_A Phantasm skill!" Marche shouted and took a painful breath of air that was far too cold to be breathed, causing him to stumble into rapidly piling snow, coughing painfully until the blizzard disappeared as quickly as it had emerged._

"_Indeed, peasant. And it is only a taste of what you will suffer for daring to break into my estate" a haughty voice commented as a silhouette appeared on the blown open doorway, "but touching a low-born lout like yourself would be below a man of my stature." The shadowed form raised its hand and snapped his fingers. Almost instantly a clash of metal was heard and Marche spared a glance to his side, to find Liam locking blades with a dark garbed viera. In hindsight Marche would find the image humorous, what with the burly thief brandishing a small Swordbreaker dagger with two hands while the delicate viera gripped a huge two-handed katana with one hand, but at the moment Marche was too psyched about one of Ivalices most wanted men staring him down. He was wearing a crimson mantle with white fur linings –a Lordly robe, Marche had seen only Babus Swain, the Runeseeker in Mewt's service, wear those before._

"Two_ got this far? It looks like I will have to hire new guards. The old ones are clearly incompetent. Hopefully they will make better entertainment in the coliseum", the dark duke Lodion, for the arrogant man could be no one else, said and slammed the point of a Heretic rod onto the ground, his hand gripping its top as if it were a walking stick. The other hand was now alight with red glow and pointing at Marche._

"_**Fira**__" he declared and a great fireball flew towards Marche._

"_**Shell**__!" Marche blocked the spell with a magical barrier and prepared to unleash all his magical might at the enemy before him._

* * *

><p><strong>Tristain countryside<strong>

"Wake up, you lazy bum!" a voice shook Marche awake from the dream.

"It's time for you to earn your pay. Hurry up!" the voice nagged at Marche and soon he could hear someone pull open the canvas that covered the wagon he was sleeping in.

"I'm up, I'm up! Give me a minute, will you?" Marche answered with a yawn. He hadn't actually slept that long last night or actually any night after La Rochelle, for he had inadvertently screwed up his sleep cycle by taking a long nap through the first day after La Rochelle. Being nocturnal had its perks at times, but it had also gained Marche a reputation as a slacker.

"You had your minute when I first yelled for you! Do you know how long I had to search for you?" Marche's tormentor for the last few days, woman called Lotta yelled.

"As long as it took for you to catch the wagon? It's not like I'm trying to keep my napping a secret. On the contrary, I advertise it so I can be found in emergencies!" Marche rebutted and jumped down from his 'nap wagon' while grumbling under his breath, "not that you care about it. Treating me like a walking first aid kit and all."

Marche's fickle luck had once again turned when he had tried to leave La Rochelle. A merchant caravan had decided to leave the town at the same time and Marche had managed to get himself hired as a healer –or 'water mage'- for the trip. It was actually a very advantageous deal for Marche. He didn't have to pay for a horse or food for the trip. He also didn't have to try and find the capital on his own by just following the roads. Of course, there was the added danger that somebody might recognize him as 'Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt', but Marche had faith in his disguise (and maybe even more in his skills at escaping).

"Shut up freeloader! Go do your job!" Lotta yelled and pointed towards the first wagons where few guards had gathered to laugh. Marche sighed and jogged over.

"Okay, what is it this time? If the idiot bit his tongue again I'll personally make sure that he will walk the rest of the way to Tristain!" Marche fumed as two hired guards moved out of his way to show him that it was indeed the young boy that had caused three fourths of his work for this trip. Few discreet questions by the campfire had revealed that the boy had run away from his home because he wanted to give his younger brothers a good role model, because apparently his mere farmer father wasn't good enough.

"It's Nathan all right. Except that this time the greenhorn managed to drop from a wagon. Hah, what a klutz", one of the older hired soldiers explained as Marche kneeled beside the knocked out teenager. That sounded actually plausible. Usually Marche had to treat Nathans maimed tongue, because few of the older veterans let him 'borrow' their horses to practice riding. And of course the brat couldn't keep his mouth shut while trying to get the horse to gallop. You'd think that the kid would learn after the first time, but no.

"Okay then let's see…" Marche pulled the Terre rod and the grimoire out of its harness by his thigh and leafed through its crude pages. The book had originally been a Visitor's book in one of the high end inns back in La Rochelle, but Marche had decided that his disguise needed a grimoire and there was no way in h*** that he would randomly scribe stuff in the empty one that had appeared with him in that forest cabin few weeks ago. Even if the thing had behaved for now, so had the one Mewt had found all those years ago, until a curious quartet of kids had read its pages out aloud.

Yeah, the empty grimoire would stay at the bottom of Marche's bag until he could get a reliable expert of arcane and enigmatic to look at it, and quite possibly not even then.

Marche left the false grimoire open on a random page and pretended to study the chant on the page. It actually described in simple mirror writing Marche's for the moment unsuccessful research on the **Shadowflare** spell, mainly on what it actually targeted. In Final Fantasy games Marche had played, the spell had been a straightforward attack spell, with rare elemental affinity. In Ivalice, it had been that still, except that it appeared to strike randomly across the battlefield. Starting with the caster. Oh sure it was useful if Marche was wearing the Bone plate that used the dark energy to heal the user, but Marche no longer had that armor.

"…**Cure**" Marche finished the fake chant shamelessly plagiarized from mineral water advertisement back home and a bright sphere of water like magic energy floated to Nathan, sinking into his head. Marche had passed the White Magic spell as a simple all-purpose healing spell that it was, except that it really used holy energy to heal instead of water magic's… whatever it used. It wasn't like Marche had had time or resources to study the local magic system in depth.

The first few times Marche had used the spell it had drawn curious gazes, but now his crowd was mainly disappointed he didn't show more exotic spells. Marche could already hear the disappointed whispers and derogatory allusions to 'one-trick pony'. Not that he cared.

"Again with the **Cure**? Don't you have any other spells?" Lotta asked with a slight irritation as Marche walked away from the unconscious boy.

"Why should I use something else? It works for just about anything with the right chant", Marche shrugged and put his 'wand' and 'grimoire' away. Of course the spell didn't need the chant, but it was there to make it appear more local style.

"Pfft, I bet that's the only one you know. Maybe that's how you were disgraced? Dropped out of the academy because you could cast only a single spell?" Lotta tried to rouse Marche, but he just answered in dull monotone:

"Yeah, they were so strict at the academy that they kicked me out because I could use only one spell that could be used for first aid, if not outright _cure_ to just about every common injury."

Lotta smacked him upside the head for that.

"…So! I vaguely remember that we are going to spend the night at some village this eve. Anything I should know?" Marche changed the topic fluidly.

"Hmph, nothing much. It's a small out of the way farming/hunting community, like really out of the way one. Barely has any trade to anywhere."

"Then why are we stopping there if it's out of the way?"

"Old man Ackerson was hired to deliver a message to a lord who has a summer retreat there. Isn't worth it in my opinion, but I'm just an assistant, so I do what he says", Lotta shrugs.

"Fair enough. Not like I'm in a hurry myself", Marche said and looked around, spotting the sun high in the sky, "say, what time is it? I think I'm about to miss an earned meal."

"Earned, huh… How very noble of you to think that a reading a page from a book and waving a wand gets food on the table…" Lotta mumbled under her breath. _She might have issues with nobles_, Marche noted mentally and shrugged apologetically:

"Well it's what you pay me." She was right after all, **Cure **was criminally easy spell. In Ivalice. But again, that place wasn't exactly real, no matter how much it seemed contrary at times. Jagds were brutal windows of hell, especially Jagd Ahli with the creepy disgraced duke. Actually, Marche wasn't sure if he really was what he claimed or if it was just a title. It certainly sounded cheesy in Marche's ear at least.

"Go to the supply wagon. I believe there's something put aside for you", Lotta eventually declares and storms off. _Definetly issues_, Marche thought as he looked after her, before taking off towards the supply wagon.

The caravan Marche had been hired on belonged to a lesser noble merchant called Jeremy Ackerson. It consisted of five wagons, two for supplies and three of which were full of merchandise from a country called Romalia. Mainly spices and artwork commissioned by some nobles at Tristania, but there had been whispers around the campfire that there was a special crate ordered by princess herself somewhere, hence the old merchant personally joining the caravan with some extra guards, one of which was always subtly keeping an eye on Marche, especially when he was near consumables, as a real water mage could easily prepare a harmful potion or plain poison and then dump it in the food. Evidently Ackerson had come to a conclusion that if Marche was working with some bandit group to rob his caravan, it would be better to have him where they could keep an eye on him.

But that suited Marche fine, for now.

The supply wagon was located to the back of the caravan and it was pulled by two sturdy horses (and in case of steep uphill road, a foul mouthed handler or three).

"Yo! Lunchtime?" Marche yelled to the handler as he neared the wagon.

"Was ages ago. You are lucky I put something aside for you", the handler, a graying man with bushy beard answered and pulled a small bag from somewhere in the wagon, "here you go. Some hard bread and cheese for now. The cook says that we might have stew tonight, depending on how there is meat on sale in the village."

"Well that would be nice change. The cheese and the bread have only gotten harder since we left La Rochelle. Occasional meat from hunting is too occasional if you ask me", Marche made small talk as he climbed next to the handler and pulled out a small waterskin he kept on his person , "but hey, at least I don't have to pay for it."

"Yeah, that's what it means to be a woodsman. Food might get a bit occasional thing, but it's free. Used to be one myself, you know?" the handler grinned, clearly enjoying the topic, "Was a damn good shot with a bow, but never really mastered the art of being quiet. Scared off all the game before even saw them." Marche had a distinct feeling that while he really couldn't pair the man's face with any name in his poor memory, this wasn't the first time he heard this story. _Maybe I should've eaten somewhere else_, Marche thought and took a swig of water.

"Of course, when it became apparent that I would never stalk through the forest unheard -or at least unseen, I decided to try my hand with traps. You know the standard ones like the one that suspends the prey in air with a rope around their ankles or just in a net?" The man kept rambling and Marche seriously felt like hitting the man with **Stare** to shut him up. _But that would only get the whole caravan up in arms against me__**, **_Marche reminded himself and massaged his temples with the hand that wasn't holding his meal.

"…then decided to try a pitfall! Seriously, nothing should have gone wrong with it…"

_Or maybe they would thank me?_

"…after I pulled the injured guy out of the hole he told me to take the message to lord Meadowcroft in the capital…"

_Plan A: wolf the food down and escape_.

"…of course I checked the thing when I was alone. Didn't really know how to read, but I knew a guy who knew a guy…"

Marche managed to stop paying attention to the old man's ramblings by stuffing so much hard bread in his mouth that his jaws hurt, until certain word stole his attention, and nearly caused him to choke.

"…body of some sort of giant bug! Supposedly had some sort of crystal embedded on it…."

"Wh- what? What kind of crystal?" Marche coughed up, almost dropping his waterskin.

"Ehh, didn't really ever see it myself. Said it was about the size of a small dog. Like the ones some noble ladies like to carry with them. But it was embedded on its head, just in front of its horns. No one dared to try and remove it, for they feared they might break the body. You see, that lordling was a bug collector. Wanted the thing into his collection and heard he got it in the end! Well, for the price he had offered in the message, I would've given my right arm!"

"A bug?" Marche asked in confusion. _Could that be the totema? The crystals are more durable than the totemas, like Ultima and Exodus. But shouldn't there have been some sort of guardians there, appointed by the totema before its demise? And the crystal sounded a lot smaller than the ones in Ivalice. Maybe there are more of them, so they are smaller? Or the world is larger?_ Marche almost missed the handlers reply as he started to theorize.

"Yeah, a HUGE one. Like a small horse, with armor plates. I think they named it the King Beetle."

"King Beetle?" Marche asked with a thoughtful expression.

"That's right. Could be nothing else! I mean, biggest bug ever existed, with armor that could stop blades? Bet the guys who found the damn thing were glad it was dead! Would've probably eaten them otherwise."

"You don't say? In my experience, humongous bug are always carnivorous", images of antlions and their subreeds flickered in Marche's mind, "but where did you say this bug ended up in?"

"It was that lord Meadowcroft who bought it. Can't really remember where his main manor is, but he owns a sizeable forest near the Ragdorian Lake."

"Well… I'll keep that in mind if I'm around there in the future. Though, it's probably a safe bet that he wouldn't show it to a random mercenary", Marche gave a fake sigh and eyed the remains of his meal.

"But that's life, I guess. It was nice to talk to you", Marche said his goodbyes and jumped off the wagon. _First to the capital, then bug hunting_, Marche planned ahead and eyed the sky with renewed vigor, _Still several hours of daylight left… Should I take a nap or go bother the guards?_


End file.
